


Supernatural One-Shots

by Dragonkitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Fluffy, Happy, Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 51,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6310762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonkitty/pseuds/Dragonkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots and stories for Supernatural. All character/reader. I'm open to requests and feedback, as long as it's not rude. These are mostly fluff and primarily angst and feels. I don't really do smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

Synopsis: Reader is a hunter working with the Winchesters. She’s deeply in love with Dean. And that’s all you need to know.  
Word count: 2500

It was quiet. Eerie. A sort of quiet you expected from a hunt. But it was beautiful. You remembered stepping out into the hallway of a large home, bright light spilling through the windows, casting a radiance onto the world before you. 

You were clean and dressed as you imagined you might in a home like this. A white sundress hung off your shoulders, your bare feet seeming to carry you through the beige carpeted home. An overwhelming smell came at you as you reached the stairs, beginning the descent, “Bacon… and eggs…” You muttered to yourself as you walked. You had woken in a sort of stupor, unsure of how you got here, but now it felt like home.

Reaching the bottom stair, you peered into the kitchen, watching as a man in a red plaid shirt seemed to be slaving away in the kitchen, humming. You recognized the tune, hearing the telltale Kansas song wafting towards you like the smells in the kitchen. 

A smile caressed your lips as you watched the tall man turn towards you, unmistakable green eyes glittering in the morning sun. He was holding a skillet with bacon on it, smiling at you, “I told you I’d bring you breakfast in bed, sunshine. Couldn’t keep away?” He grinned, that grin you loved, etched into the scruff of a chiseled face.

Unsure if this was a dream, you lifted your hand, walking closer, “Dean?” 

He laughed a bit, removing the rest of the bacon and placing it onto perfectly arranged plates, “Duh. Should I be worried you were expecting someone else, Y/N?” 

He smiled up at you, crookedly, your own face a bit dazed as you shook your head, “No, I uh… I just didn’t… I didn’t expect this.” 

He seemed to laugh as you got closer. He placed the hot skillet down onto the stove that had been rendered inert, placing his large hands on your hips, “I promised, remember? Five years is a long time to put up with a dude like me, but you’re a pro. Shouldn’t have expected anything less.” He leaned in and placed a kiss upon your lips, so gentle you wouldn’t have ever known.

The kiss was brief, and sudden, but so full of love. Your body seemed to float, your chest warm as your stomach fluttered. It felt so right. So good. It was unconscious that you had wrapped your arms around his neck, nestling into him, “Dean…” You muttered, half whispering, half praying. 

He moved his hands to rub your back gently, “Much as I like where this is going, the food’s gonna get cold if we don’t start to eat it.” You pulled away, the smile on your lips unmistakable. This was paradise, if there ever was one.

Sitting down at the table, set with a small bouquet of lavender (your favorite), you smiled. But something was nagging at you. Looking up, you eyed Dean, “What… what are we doing here? In a house, in the suburbs?” 

Dean took a big bite of bacon, smiling as he waited to respond by chewing, “What I promised you, remember? Happiness.” He reached over and rubbed your arm warmly, “Why do you ask? I thought we went over this when we stopped hunting.” The idea of not hunting, especially Dean not hunting, was a powerful thought. 

You could only shrug at it, “What could I have possibly done to make you stop hunting?” He gave you a look that made you think that *you* had been the one to go crazy. But he smiled after a moment.

You watched as Dean stood, moving to where you were and crouching by you as you remained seated. He took your hand in his, smiling up at you with his glorious green eyes. You never thought you could feel so warm and so safe with just a look and a touch, but his look and touch made the world suddenly make sense, “Because you showed me that there are some things worth fighting for, even if that fighting isn’t with a gun or a knife. I love you, Y/N. Always. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew. I knew we’d wind up here.” He lifted your hand to his warm lips and kissed your knuckles, wrinkles forming in his eyes as he smiled widely, warmly, the smile you knew to be true and sincere.

Reaching over, you touched his face with your free hand, feeling the rough skin and stubble that seemed to be a part of him at this point. You trailed your fingers up to his hair, the hair you had debated about, ad nauseum, as to whether it was dark blonde or light brown. You could see a few stray white hairs, remembering teasing him about the fact that he was becoming an old man. You felt the laughter from those moments, the joy it had brought into your life. 

You remembered when he kissed you, late that night after too much drinking, how he had insisted he was a sober as a judge and how he had tasted like everything you imagined but nothing you could have predicted. You remembered when he told you it was time to stop hunting, because it was time to be happy. You remembered that he told you that you made him happy.

The memories were washing over you in a flood, each filled with such a powerful stab of joy you could almost lose yourself in each memory. And for a moment you did. Closing your eyes, you traced your fingertips along his face, “Dean…” You whispered the words. 

Hearing him speak your own name, “Y/N…” It was soft, and warm, a name filled with kindness and with love. You remembered now the way he had worked to get a job on a construction crew and worked part-time at the local hardware store. You thought of teasing him for going off hunting deer and how you had told him his outfit made him look like a goofy redneck. He had teased you in turn by tickling at your sides until you laughed so hard tears formed in your eyes.

Then he said your name again, “Y/N!” It was jarring this time, loud, snapping you for a moment as you opened your eyes and saw his face. He looked scared this time, though, frightened, “Sweetheart, can you hear me?” 

You looked, confused and shook your head, touching his face again, “Of course… Are you OK?” 

His face turned back, as though it were buffering for a moment, smiling again as he watched you, “You drifted off for a second, maybe you should get back to bed. C’mon.”

He stood, holding your hand warmly, smiling as you pushed your seat back. He lead you with warm guidance back through the halls of the home that felt so familiar. You could remember walking through during the open house, whispering ‘This is it, Dean! I know it. I love it.’ He had asked you if it was too small, but you had insisted it was perfect. He had, in turn, insisted you were perfect instead. It had made you smile. He had whispered into your ear, “Anything to make your dreams come true. Anything to make you happy.”

Opening the door to your bedroom, it had looked as you’d always imagined. Dean had, of course, mounted a few of his more favorable weapons. There was an old turntable with some vinyl records of old rock bands lining nearby. Your own collection of posters, a sort of small montage, was mounted by the bed. 

The bedroom looked exactly like something no one else would dare to live in except the two of you. It was yours. Even the blankets, a deep purple color he had agreed to because you had insisted, was still unique to the two of you.

You laid down on the bed, Dean sliding in with you as you rested your head on his chest. You could smell him, the faint aroma of bacon mixed with sweat and leather, along with cedar from what he had been working on. He was warm, but not hot. His firm body seemed to protect you. His fingers raised and began to intermingle with your hair, stroking it, “Is this how you imagined our life, Y/N?” 

You nodded, wordlessly as you stared at the cieling, glow-in-the-dark stars mapping out your favorite constellations. Somewhere you knew he had done that. He had found Ursa Major and Draco, Orion and Perseus. So many more. You remembered those times, lying on the hood of the Impala, when he had driven you somewhere dark when you couldn’t sleep so you could fall asleep with him, staring at the stars. Staring at the sky.

It was then, sharp as lighting, you heard it again, “Y/N, please! Please wake up!” You turned your head sharply, stunned a bit as Dean was gone. His warmth was gone and you sat up, looking around. 

The room had grown darker, the light shining in having dimmed considerably. But you stood, staring out into the backyard, watching now as Dean ran in circles with a gorgeous German Shepherd, playing a game with rope. You smiled as you watched him, placing your hand against the window. But it was cold. Despite the obvious warmth from the home, the window felt cold.

“This is what you always wanted.” The voice was familiar, and you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. 

Tears were dancing at the corners of your eyes as you felt your stomach drop, “I know.” Speaking made it worse, and those tears you thought you could hold back began to slide forward, down over your cheeks. 

The voice became a human, a hand resting on your shoulder, “So stay. Be happy. You are happy, are you not?” The accent, Middle Eastern in origin, danced into your ears. 

You did want to be happy. And wasn’t this happiness? Dean playing with a dog in your backyard, the history you had dreamed for the two of you, it was real. It was tangible. His taste was still on your lips and you reached up to touch your own, remembering him, “I am… I am happy.”

Were you? You closed your eyes tightly and behind you could see every blissful moment. Sharing secrets and sharing meals, making love in your bed, talking about eventually making a family together. When you were ready. He had promised that he would wait for you, and any time you needed, he would give. He had spent his life fighting, and he had realized it was for this. He had told you that the Dean Winchester you knew, the one that had spent his days killing and surviving alone was not who he wanted to be. 

Sam had given his blessing and had kept in close touch. The two of you were going to start a family. Hadn’t he promised that? Hadn’t you teased him that the Dean Winchester you knew could never settle down? You had. And he had smirked and told you that maybe you had superpowers you didn’t know about.

Tears began spilling freely from behind closed eyes as you shook your head, “It isn’t real.” And it wasn’t. That joy, that love, that feeling of warmth in your chest that lit like fire when you saw Dean. And that look he gave you, that crooked grin on his warm features, a smile reserved just for you. A touch reserved just for you. And while you wanted nothing more than to live that way forever, you knew. Just as certainly as you knew what you had to do next.

Without turning, you watched as Dean chased the dog in circles outside, the sadness beginning to swell in your stomach, overtaking the feeling of butterflies and warmth. A cold steel coursed through you as you reached to the side and picked up Dean’s old revolver, still loaded. 

You watched him smile and laugh, watched his eyes light up as he looked up at you in the window. And you held a hand up to him, waving, your other hand cocking the gun.

The shot rang out, loud, jarring as you as you shot upwards, woken to the dark reality that was the truth. Tears were warm on your cheeks as you felt light-headed and empty. The world was lifeless and dim, cold. You were in a warehouse, a few bodies hanging limply around you, drained of life. Sam was removing a tube from your arm where your blood had been removed from. Dean was holding you, looking concerned, “Y/N! C’mon, sweetheart, don’t give up yet, OK? I need someone else to nag me about music. Sam can’t do that alone!” 

You blinked your eyes a few times, the world clearing, “Djinn, wasn’t it?” 

Dean nodded his head, motioning to the side where the creature he had slain was collapsed into a heap, “Yeah, didn’t think we’d be able to get you out. Scared the crap out of us.” A laugh came from your lips, but it was cold and it was empty. It was a laugh for the sake of laughing.

Dean helped you to your feet, your body feeling heavy. You tried to convince yourself it was because you had lost blood, or that it was because you had been through a traumatic ordeal, but you knew better. 

Even as you sat in the back of the Impala, driving to your motel room, you saw Sam’s eyes in the mirror, the sadness that reflected back told you that he knew. But Dean didn’t. Dean had only known terror through the eyes of the Djinn, and he had assumed the same for you.

As he helped carry you back inside, letting you rest on the motel room bed, he looked at you as he always had, “So what kind of nightmare did that that jerkoff make you see?” 

You contemplated for a minute. The man you loved, who you knew could never give up hunting or admit to loving you, the man who would die in this life the same way he lived. You thought for a moment and closed your eyes, “I saw my life get ripped away.”

You knew Dean could never love you. He could never stop hunting. He would never have a home with you in the suburbs, drinking whiskey, working late and waking up to homemade breakfast. You knew that what he saw was a life of hunting, and if he did love you, he would never be able to do anything more except wish. He would wish for a world where the two of you could be together, because this world wasn’t it.

Because sometimes the worst dreams, the worst nightmares, the worst that we can imagine, is the happiest. Because sometimes, we know that somewhere, happiness just isn’t for us. Sometimes the torture in life is knowing that we may never truly live.


	2. What's Your Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam x Reader

He had been coming into the diner going on a year now. Each time he looked like that type of guy that was one bad day shy of going postal. At least, that’s how your coworker put it. You thought he seemed nice; tall guy, good shape, always wearing flannel and jeans, always taking the same seat in the back corner. He’d always order the Cobb salad, dressing on the side, a glass of water, and an infinite storage of coffee. He was predictable.

Or sweet, you had thought to yourself.

Going to school part-time meant that your own schedule was pretty routine. You found it a happy coincidence that the man (his name was Sam, you got that much) was always there when you were. Often his brother tagged along with him, always ordering something that could clog arteries in a second flat but looking as though he worked out. They both did. And most of the time Sam always had a serious look on his face.

You had taken your time to get to know the man, stopping by a little more often than necessary to fill up his coffee or water, asking if there was anything he needed. His brother leered once or twice at you, but never Sam.

Slumping behind the counter near the pies, you spoke to Hank, a regular at the counter, “You thought of just askin’ the guy out yourself? Pretty girl like you must not have too much trouble with that.” He cocked an eyebrow before taking a drink of coffee, the balding man in his fifties thinking that he had all the answers.

“What if he says no? Guy like him? He’s good looking, smart, eats right, polite, funny… he’s probably got a girlfriend already.” You rested your chin on your hand, gazing over to the man who was engrossed in something on his laptop.

Hank laughed, “Oh, Y/N, you’re lucky you’re so pretty. You really don’t see how that man looks at you?” A look of confusion washed over your features, unsure how to respond to that. Well, of course not. He looked at you like every other waitress in this place. You were nothing special. At least, that was how you saw yourself.  
“Hush, Hank. Who asked you anyway?” You grinned at him, topping off his coffee before getting the courage to walk back over to Sam. His brother was there, which felt a little intimidating, but you went over anyway.

Smiling, you held up the coffee, “Can I get you another refill, Sam?” You looked down at the man who might normally tower over you.

He lifted his head, smiling, “Oh, uh… No thanks, Y/N. I’m good on the caffeine.” He motioned to his mug, still fairly full.

Stupid.

“Well, how about a slice of pie today? Cook made his special, pecan! It’s on me.” You flashed a toothy smile back at him.

“I’ll take the pie!” You heard his brother perk up, almost forgetting the man was sitting there, startled slightly though unable to figure out a way to respond.

“Uh, sure. I’ll take the pie.” Sam smiled nervously, full intent on giving it to his brother who would likely just take it anyway.

You nodded, quickly turning on your heels and jetting for the counter. The coffee sloshed a bit in the pot it was in, but none spilled. Most days you were skilled at what you did, but then a man like Sam walked into your life and lord only knew what happened to your grace then. Mostly it just vanished.  
____

“Dude, you keep walkin’ in here every day, you gonna ask her out or what?” Dean bit down on the burger before him, Sam across the table with his laptop open and nothing on the screen. For weeks he had been coming in, ever since the day he laid eyes on you, hoping that maybe he’d get the courage to ask you out. Maybe he’d get the courage to even speak. A man who beheaded vampires couldn’t even ask a lady out.

“What, Y/N?” Sam gave his brother a confused look, Dean promptly rolling his eyes. Sam threw his hands up, “Fine, yeah. I’ll probably never ask her out. I mean, look at her. She’s gorgeous. She’s funny, she’s sweet… she’s out of my league, dude.”

Dean shook his head as he finished the bite of his burger, “What’re you even talking about? Dude, she’s super into you. Every time I see you in here, which, by the way, is whenever she’s working, she’s all over you. Trust me, no waitress does that unless she’s lookin’ for a tip. If you know what I mean.” Dean grinned stupidly.

“Dude, grow up.” He was about to berate his brother further when you came back, offering coffee, which Sam had plenty of, and pie, which he knew already his brother was going to eat. Each time he saw you he felt the lump in his throat get bigger, and each time he thought he might finally ask, he stopped himself. It seemed unfair to even get you involved with a hunter. A beautiful, perfect woman like you. The thought of you, though… it always made him smile.

“Well, whatever you decide, we gotta head back to the Bunker and get ready for the hunt tomorrow. You gonna be OK on your own or you need me to hold your hand?” Dean grinned, Sam scowled.

Typical.  
____

The night carried on as it always did, leaving you disappointed as you watched Sam stroll out the door. You didn’t know he had stopped four or five times, almost ready to give you his number. But he’d be gone for a while, and that seemed in poor character. You had desperately wanted to give him your own, but maybe he didn’t like girls like you.

When evening came, you were left picking up the closing shift, the waitress who usually came in calling in sick, “I’ve got a test in the morning, are you sure I can’t leave?” You had pleaded with the manager, the man who had a soft spot for you.

“Fine, Y/N. Just gimme another hour and I’ll get you out.” You had nodded. Being short-staffed wasn’t uncommon, but his usual failsafe had apparently failed to answer her phone as well. And while you hated working into the night, you figured the town was relatively safe. It was Kansas, right? Nothing happened in Kansas.

But you found yourself thinking of Sam again. That smile, the one that rarely perked up but seemed to pop up for you. Maybe you’d finally get the courage this time to give him your number.

When the manager finally did come back to relieve you, telling you that you were off the hook, you were exhausted. Being on your feet so long and going to school? Torture. And of course your car was at the back of the parking lot. At night. Wasn’t this something out of a horror movie?

Slipping on your jacket you scurried out the back door of the diner, fumbling a bit with your keys as you made your way to the car. The cool air was actually a relief given the rush of the day. Tips were a nice cushion to the pain of the hours worked, but getting done with the day was a payment in itself. You promised yourself, time and again, that there would be no more waitiressing once you got your degree. You didn’t want this life for yourself.

Sighing, you got to your car, unlocking it and tossing your things in haphazardly.

That was when you heard it. A soft ‘crunch’ coming from the bushes nearby. Breathing. Heavy breathing. You’d seen enough horror movies to know how this played out, quickly ending it by jumping inside the car, bolting the doors down, and revving the engine.

Or trying to.

You could hear the faint ‘click click click’ of the dead engine even over your own pounding heartbeat, “Oh, Lord have mercy, seriously?!” You screamed at the inanimate object, punching the steering wheel. A honk rang out, and soon after a creature larger than any man but covered in fur lept onto your hood.

A scream came from your throat, almost inhuman. This was so not how you were going out. You reached for the baseball bat in the backseat as it drew back its arm, hoping, most likely, to smash through the already cracked windshield.

But as you scrambled, you heard two gunshots ring out, eyes wide as you looked up, watching the creature fall dead on your car. Still inside, you stared at the… wolf? Whatever it was, bleeding on your hood, lifeless. Gripping the baseball bat you shrieked once more as there was a pounding on the window, “Y/N?”

“SAM!” Your eyes were wide, watching as he put away his gun, trying to open the door. You threw it open and jumped out, throwing your arms around his neck. You had no idea why he was here, or how he had known, but that man had saved your life.

“Woah, easy, Y/N. You ok?” He pulled back gently, his embrace welcoming and his large hands on your arms feeling safe. Feeling easy.

You nodded your head, realizing you were still holding the baseball bat with a death grip, “Yeah… I guess…”

Sam grinned at you, widely, a grin you’d come to love, “Were you planning on inviting him to little league practice?” He motioned to the bat. You flushed scarlet, realizing that it would have done nothing to whatever beast was on your car.

“What was that thing?” Your eyes looked up at him pleadingly, Sam sighing heavily.

“You know how you asked what I do for a living? And I always just say research? Well… this is what I research and go after.” He motioned to the creature (goddamn that was a mess) and you sucked in a breath. Did he really do this? For a living?

“You… hunt these things? You save peoples’ lives on a daily basis?” When you turned, Sam found it endearing how you had immediately gone to the idea of saving a life. You weren’t hung up on the terror or fear, you focused on the good he did. And you didn’t even know him.

“I uh… yeah. I guess I do.” He was smiling again, and you were as well, “Hey, listen… I know this is a bad time, but the whole reason I came back here tonight was to… to ask you on a date. And I totally don’t expect you to say yes, I mean-”

A smile crossed your lips as you leaned up on your tip-toes to plant a kiss on his lips. He didn’t expect it, which made it better, and made you smile into it, “After what you did tonight? I think I owe you dinner.”

And that was when Sam Winchester realized he wasn’t going anywhere without you again.


	3. Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

You hadn’t told him at first. News like this, you knew you had to wait until the moment was right. Dean Winchester was an impulsive man by nature when it came to emotions, and when it came to you, his entire world was always at stake.

When he’d found you, half-alive and mostly dying after a vampire had drained you close to death, you were sure you had actually died. You remembered later muttering something about an angel carrying you, though Sam had assured you that was in fact Dean, who was not an angel. Angels were dicks. That was one of the many fascinating things you had learned about four years ago when the boys found you.

It had taken almost no time for Dean to fall for you. The way you laughed, your smile, how your eyes would brighten and Dean would swear the whole world lit up when you walked into a room. He had fallen in love with you for everything you were and despite his better instincts. You had become a Hunter, and a rather skilled one at that. It only made sense that you stay with the boys.

So they had trained you. Dean, specifically. He had worked in the off-times to show you useful techniques. And slowly you had begun to recover from your own scars, both literal and emotional. The bites on your wrists had faded significantly, a few cuts on your chest almost nothing. Dean swore he couldn’t tell but you always felt them. It was why you never slept alone anymore.

“Everyone sees them, Dean. It’s the first thing they notice about me.” You had grumbled, hiding further in your oversized hoodie.

But Dean only smiled, tugging gently at your chin to look up at him, “Then they’d be idiots. Because the first thing I notice about you is how much I love you.” Words you never thought a man like Dean could utter. Words of kindness. Compassion. Understanding. You had taught him so much without realizing it.

Dean had taken you in those first few nights when the nightmares were too much, holding you tight with blankets between you two. He had been respectful. Careful. But when you whispered his name as you fell asleep in his arms, it was a wonder he held off professing his love as long as he did.

Flashcut to now. Sitting inside the Bunker. The world had gotten nuts but the four of you (Castiel included, of course) had learned to grow with it. The Bunker had been a sign that you were settling, and that you had a home. You would always have a home. And days like this when it was pouring outside with nothing to do, you made your own fun.

By now, you were standing on the table in the library, dancing and singing to Creedence Clearwater Revival, one of Dean’s favorites belting out at the top of your lungs with Sam laughing so hard he’d fallen over, “I wanna know! Have you ever seen the rain!” As you sang, you lowered yourself somewhat, Dean smiling and standing as he watched. He leaned up to meet you halfway, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

It was perfect. Days like this would go on forever, or could, you thought. You’d tell him soon. Enjoy the smooth streak that you’d finally managed to get. No crazy hunts, no big bads looming over. It was normal, right? It felt like a normal family.

You hopped off the table and into Dean’s arms, all smiles and bright eyes, “You know, aside from me, you’ve got the best singing voice in here.” He smirked.

You swatted his chest, “Hey, jerk. Then I’m better at singing than you are at sex.” It took a minute to compute, but Dean suddenly changed his face into that of a poor, offended man.

Sam was laughing, “Dude, I don’t know what’s funnier: that you didn’t get it, or that you’re bad at sex.”

 

“I’ll have you know I’m the best lay Y/N’s ever had. Ain’t that right, princess?” He grinned at you, placing his hands on your hips. You were smiling, laughing a little as you nodded your head. Who could say no to that man?

“Best lay I’ve ever had.”

The group of you decided to order out. Chinese food seemed good enough for a damp day like today, enjoying your quiet time. So when the decider of who had to get the food came up, you jumped at the chance, “Oh! I’ll go into town. I won’t take Baby, either.” You grinned at Dean.

He stood, pulling you against him warmly, “Mmm… only if I can come with.”

“Nope. I wanna do it. Maybe I’ll even come back with a surprise. Besides, you need to rest your vocal chords for later.” You grinned widely and he laughed.

“Fine, but take too long and I’ll send the search party. Can’t lose my food and the most beautiful woman in the world.”

The last words you’d ever hear Dean Winchester say.  
____

When you got into town, smile on your face and walking into the restaurant, you immediately knew something was off. The lights had dimmed and the place was… empty. There were no bodies, but simply no people.

Confused, you reached for your knife as you stepped in, “Hello…?” It was a ghost town. All except for one voice.

“Hello, Darling. I was wondering if you’d ever get here.” Your eyes fell to where Crowley was sitting at the back of the restaurant, “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of ensuring our privacy for this conversation.”

“What do you want, Crowley?” Your voice was firm. You’d dealt with the Demon before, though never alone. Dean had warned you, many times, that he was more dangerous and more crafty than he came off as. He wasn’t to be underestimated, nor would you.

“Is that a way to start a conversation? I’d think you’d want to start setting a good example. I mean, after all, you are with a child, are you not?” He motioned towards your stomach, scotch in hand, your eyes widening, a sick feeling forming in your gut,

“How did you…”

“Know? I know everything. It’s interesting to me, however, that Squirrel hasn’t figured it out. Your little trips to the bathroom in the morning, your refusal of alcohol. I suppose things have just been going so well. Haven’t they?” You inhaled sharply as he stepped towards you, your legs feeling frozen. It wasn’t a spell, but you were terrified. Was this man mad that you were happy? That Dean was happy?

“What do you want, Crowley? I won’t ask again.” You held up the knife, a pointless gesture as the Demon waved it out of your hand with the flick of his wrist.

Wincing, you watched it fly as he stepped closer, “It’s not what I want, it’s what I don’t want. And that’s you in the picture. See, with Dean all dark and brooding with his brother, he tends to make more mistakes. Opens gates of Hell, Heaven, Purgatory… Well, that one was the Angel, wasn’t it? Anywho… my point still stands. Having you around is cramping my style, darling, and I simply can’t have that.”

You shook your head, confused, “You’re mad that Dean is happy? What the hell does it matter to you? You should be grateful, it means he isn’t hunting you!”

Crowley scowled at you, “Were I a lesser Demon I’d fling you against the wall. But given your current condition I’ll just put it simply: I need Dean Winchester brooding. I need him harping over lost loves or whatever it is he harps over. He makes mistakes, causes problems, and makes my world much easier. So I’ll tell you what, Y/N. I’ll give you a choice.”

He smiled, close enough now to smell the whiskey on his breath, to see him closer than you ever had. Staying stoic was not easy, “If you leave, with the child, and don’t tell Dean, I’ll let you live. All of you. If you decide you want to go back to the little pillow fort of yours, I’ll make sure the child doesn’t make it, and soon after, I’ll make sure you don’t either.”

His voice was gravel and it was deep. He was serious. Crowley was only ever serious.

You weren’t scared now. Nor were you angry. You were confused. Shaking your head you eyed him, stepping back slightly as you regained your composure best you could, “Say I do agree. Say I leave town right now and never talk to Dean again… How do I know you’ll hold up your end of the bargain?”

“Unlike your little Team Free Will over there, I keep my word. Keeping contracts is what I do. As long as you never tell Dean where you are or that he even has a child, I’ll make sure you’re safe. What the heck, I’ll make sure of it. You’re off-limits to demons.”

Now the tears were welling, “You’re a monster…” It was all you could muster. It was all you could think.

“I might be. But I’m an effective monster. And you have a decision to make.” He walked back to where he’d been seated, placing himself down as he stared at you. Your hand fell to your stomach. Two months along, no signs of issues. The doc had even done a prenatal test for you, telling you things looked good. Once you hit three months you were gonna tell Dean. You wondered what you’d name your child. You wondered if he’d finally let hunting go to raise a kid. Sam would be an amazing uncle. Castiel would be a literal Guardian Angel. You’d read that kid Winnie the Pooh and fall asleep with the child in your arms and your head on Dean’s chest. And you’d be the toughest damn mom in the world on top of all of it. The toughest and the proudest. And maybe even, for once, the happiest.

Closing your eyes, you felt the tears fall. You understood the repercussions of your actions. You knew the world would never be the same and joy would be a mystery. You would have only yourself and you were sure the nightmares would return. You knew, on top of all of this, that it would destroy Dean.

You nodded your head, “Deal.”  
____

When two hours passed and you hadn’t answered your phone or returned home, Dean was panicking, “I knew I shouldn’t have let her go off on her own. It’s raining! What if she got in an accident?” Dean held his head, trying once more to call you. It was in the double digits now the amount of times he’d called.

“She didn’t get in a car accident, I know it. Let’s just drive up there and see if we find her. Knowing Y/N, she probably got a flat tire and forgot to charge her phone. She’s done worse.” Sam was trying to reassure his brother, though he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn’t like one bit.

And so they drove. They drove, Baby going faster than she should have, Castiel scanning ahead. By the time they got into town, though, they found your car, empty. Your phone was still in the backseat, a few items of litter on the floor. All that Dean could see was a note on your dashboard, your writing as best he knew it:

_I’ll love you. For all my time._

_Rain clears into sun. Don’t lose the sun._

Standing in the now-pouring rain, Dean held the paper as it slowly soaked. He knew he could try and find you, and he would, but he knew you were better at hiding than any of them. Castiel had taught you how to ward and hide from both demons and angels. You had sigils and symbols tattooed into your skin. Etched into bone. You were invisible. A woman too protected to be found. The only woman he had ever loved with his entire body and soul.

Tears fell as he read the note that was slowly becoming illegible. Sam didn’t bother to try and console his brother, the man already inconsolable. You were his entire life. His world. He had planned on proposing at the stupid concert you had wanted to go to next week, ring and all. He wanted to be different for you. With you, he imagined he had a life. A world. He had something to hold on to and something to wake up for.

Dean searched the only way he knew how, and Crowley watched on with a sick sort of pleasure. Once more, his brooding nature would get the best of him. Consumed by grief he would make an unfixable error, he would do something so tremendously stupid Crowley could once again step in and resume power he had lost. Power he craved.

And so Dean looked on hunts. Your old contacts that he knew of came up dry, some offering support and others telling him that if you were gone, it was for a good reason. Best to let the dead lie.

Dean never liked that phrase, and a few broken noses drove that fact home.

It didn’t stop him from looking, though. Even through the months that turned into years, and years that dragged on. Sam had eventually convinced him that other things were more pressing, like the Darkness. Dean had considered your words, not to forget the sun, but he felt like the world wouldn’t stop pouring rain. At the risk of sounding emo, he felt so defeated by the entire universe. Even Death wanted him gone. And where was God in all this?

The pain never stopped being immeasurable. There were days he couldn’t get out of bed and days where whiskey was the only thing he knew understood him. His liver suffered, that was sure. His body ached and he drove himself to the brink of insanity more than once, but he never forgot you. He never lost you. All he had was that picture in his  
phone of you, the one last thing he couldn’t get rid of. He’d taken it one morning, trying to wake up up, you swatting at him. He had countered by taking out the camera and sneaking a photo of you laughing under the blankets with him. It was the happiest he had ever been. And the happiest you had been.

[i]“You ever think about settling down someday? Havin’ a family, livin’ a normal life.” Dean held you in his arms, sitting in the back of the Impala on a bright day, nursing some bruises after a hunt.

You shrugged, “Never thought about it too hard, you know? Couple years ago my life was chaos as it was, then you saved me from almost dying… now here I am with the love of my life. Don’t really know how to answer that, Dean. But… yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” You held onto his arms wrapped around you, feeling a few of the cuts and the skin rough from years of impact with a less than kind world.

“I always knew my mom wanted that. I think my dad did, too. He just didn’t think it was in the cards. Maybe he was wrong.” He grinned, nuzzling his scruff into the crook of your neck, making you smile.

“We make our own futures.” You whispered to him.[/i]

It was ten years later when Dean found himself called to a hunt in New Orleans. Children had been disappearing from a foster home, something that was, of course, never good. Lore had lead them into the direction of a vengeful spirit, a quick hunt at best. At worst it would tack a few days onto a journey that had no real end. Neither brother minded.

Walking down one of the dark hallways that night, the building having been closed up, Dean having decided to check the home while Sam salted and burned. Hearing screams coming from down the hall, Dean ran. He kicked down the door behind which the screams had been trapped, eyes falling to a young girl, no older than ten, wielding an iron poker once meant for the fireplace. Behind her was a circle of salt, a group of children within it.

He almost didn’t believe it, watching the child swing fearlessly at the spectre as it came closer, her green eyes narrowed and firm, knuckles white as she held the poker, “You won’t hurt them!” She called out, hardly noticing Dean as he entered. The ghost raised its hand, intent on perhaps killing the girl, and Dean was stunned.

But then the ghost began to vanish, erupting as if in flames, realizing Sam must have gotten to salt and burn the bones. That little girl never moved, though. Those roaring green eyes never once strayed or threatened tears. She only stood her ground. The girl with hair so familiar, with eyes filled with fury. The girl who looked afraid of nothing.

Dean’s daughter. Your daughter.  
___

When all had been taken care of, Dean had gone up to the girl, unsure but hopeful, “Hey kiddo, what’s your name?” He felt his heart racing. He was scared… more frightened than he had ever been. He was terrified.

“Rain. And I’m not a kiddo.” She looked indignantly at him, a look he knew from anywhere.

Dean fought back tears as he nodded, “Course not… my apologies. So Rain, you always been a hunter? Cause that was some good hunting.”

She looked at him skeptically, pausing as she considered divulging to this man. Being alone with such a secret had been hard on a ten-year-old, “Yeah. My mom died about a year ago from a demon. She showed me how to take care of myself. I miss her… “ She took a deep breath and Dean almost lost it, then. He thought he might.

“Your mom got a name?” He was holding back tears, sitting with the most amazing ten-year-old he had ever met.

“Y/N. Y/F/N.”

Dean placed a hand on his mouth, tears finally coming down, but smiling none the less. He got it, now. Even if he didn’t really get it, “I know your mom, Y/N. She ever talk about Dean Winchester?”

The girl went from confusion to a bright smile, nodding her head, “She said if I ever met Dean Winchester, I had to go with him. She said he’d take good care of me. And she gave me a book to give him. Are you Dean?”

He could only nod his head, rising unsteadily to his feet as he followed Rain blindly down the hallway. A daughter. He had a daughter. He had a beautiful daughter with your hair and his eyes, but with the look of fire and passion you had always had. A daughter so beautiful and brave he almost couldn’t believe it.

Getting to her room, she removed a backpack under her bed, a backpack containing the few things left she had in life. The backpack she’d eventually take with her to the Bunker. From it she withdrew a Winnie The Pooh book, handing it over, “She said you’d get it.”

With great trepidation Dean opened the book, a letter tucked on the inside. He opened it up and there was no hiding the tears as they fell,

_“If you live to be 100, I want to live to be 100 minus 1 day so I would never have to live a day without you._

_I’m sorry I had to leave, Dean. I’m sorry you had to find Rain this way, because if you’re reading this it means I’ve died. Maybe someday you’ll find out why I left, and you won’t be so angry. I hope you aren’t angry._

_I know that if you’re reading this, you’ll take such good care of Rain. She’s so beautiful, isn’t she? Your eyes, my hair, and already she’s got an attitude and I know she’ll be a heartbreaker in no time. She gets that from you._

_Take care of her. Read her this book every day. We read all the other Winnie The Pooh books during our downtime, but I wanted her to have at least one with just you. I know you won’t want her to hunt, but if she’s like either of us she’ll take to it naturally. There’s no stopping her._

_But Dean, remember I love you. So very much. I was never happy until I met you, never healed until I met you. You gave me the best years of my life and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I’ll be waiting for you in Heaven, I promise. We both know God nor Angels could ever keep me from you. For now, be good to her. Love her. Cherish her. Hold her tight. Make sure she knows she is loved just as I knew you loved me._

_You were always the best thing in my life, Dean Winchester.”_

Dean sat on the side of Rain’s bed, crying as he held the letter, unprepared for the small hand on his arm, looking up at him. His tear-stained face turned to her and she smiled, “My mom always used to tell me, ‘Promise me you’ll always remember: you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem,’”

Dean smiled as he took her hand, kissing it gently, “‘…and smarter than you think.’”

Once lost, now found, Dean had you back in the arms of a child he never knew but always loved, and would forever cherish. Dean was whole again.


	4. As I Live And Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

“Did you know that most of the stars we’re seeing right now are actually burned out and dead.” Your hands were interlaced behind your head as you stared into the darkness at the night sky. The man lying next to you on the hood of the Impala furrowed his brow a bit.

“Seriously? Can’t you just enjoy this? Why’s it gotta be about death with you?” This elicited a bit of a laugh and you smiled, shaking your head. 

“No, but that’s why it’s so cool! Think about it. We’re staring at constellations that the ancient Greeks stared at, stars that died long before them that we can still see. How trippy is that?” Dean shook his head a bit, his own fingers interlaced behind his head.

You had been struggling with sleeping lately, your most recent encounter having left you shaken up when the demon had managed to get you pinned. Of course, the brothers had been there, and Dean had stepped in, but you’d been having trouble sleeping. Messing up a hunt like that always nagged at the perfectionist in you. 

You’d felt that being a woman you had something more to prove. You weren’t a princess in need of rescuing. You were fully capable of taking care of yourself. But the demon had said things to you, things you’d thought you’d kept so well hidden, that having them out in the open had been more than terrifying.

Knowing you almost better than you knew yourself, and surprising you, Dean had invited you out for a drive. He was wordless as he kept the radio on at a low tone, humming a bit and drumming his fingers, leather jacket hanging open on his form.

You were curious about what he could be planning this late at night, but when he pulled into a field about ten miles from the bunker, nothing around except the sky and trees, you had known. It was surprising that he had remembered you saying that looking at the stars helped you fall asleep, but somewhere he knew. Even now, in the pitch black darkness, you felt safe. Warm. Comfortable.

It was quiet for a moment before you raised a hand, pointing a finger at a small cluster of stars above you, “That’s Ursa Major.” 

He gave a confused look, not that you could see given the darkness, and shook his head. “Isn’t ursa a bear?” 

You grinned widely at him without turning to look over, “Ten points to Gryffindor. It’s the big dipper.” 

He scoffed a bit, which you heard clearly, adjusting his posture a bit, “Well if you’d said that. Gimme one I don’t know.” You smirked, thinking to yourself as you scanned the sky. The whole world looked like it was glowing as you lay, seeing the milky way in the clarity of the night. Each star was lit and everything seemed so clear. The world made sense.

Smiling, you pointed to your right and up, “Cassiopeia. She’s over there, see?” You used your fingers to outline where one of your favorites was, one that you had loved growing up. He squinted, leaning closer to see what you saw. He was close enough that you could smell him, his shampoo, motor oil, leather, and the remnants of whiskey. He smelled like you imagined a hunter smelling. The mixture was oddly comforting, even as close as he was. You weren’t as nervous as you thought you’d be.

“I think you’re making it up, Y/N. I see a bunch of stars.” Rolling your eyes at his typical response, you reached into your pocket and withdrew your smartphone. It wasn’t a disposable one, as this was the one very few even knew of. This was yours. And on it was your star tracking application. Opening it up with a brief tap, you waited for it to load, smiling as it did. 

A line of constellations appeared, mapping with GPS coordinates as you held it up, “Ok, here, look.” You lifted the phone above your heads and pointed at the one listed as ‘Cassiopeia’, highlighting it, “See? It’s that cluster.” 

The screen matched the stars as you held it up and he took the phone from you, “Ok. Fine. I see it.”

You went to grab the phone back and he pulled away, “Not so fast, sister. Let’s see exactly what you do know.” His grin was apparent, even in the darkness, adjusting himself so he was sitting up and away, so that you wouldn’t be able to see the phone, “So where’s Orion.” 

You squinted a bit as you looked at the sky, taking only a moment to find the almost hourglass shape, outlining it with your fingers, “There. C’mon, gimme a hard one.” 

He seemed to chuckle as he adjusted his positioning, trying to get a better angle to find different constellations, “Think you’re so good… show me… Pegasus.” You grinned widely, one of your favorites but one that would be that much harder.

You decided to wait a minute, make him think he had finally outdone you. It was silent as he chuckled again, “Having trouble, sweetheart?” That was what you needed. 

Confidently, you raised a finger and pointed above the horizon, “Pegasus. The body and there’s the legs.” 

He looked almost defeated, as you were able to make out his face in the slight glow the phone offered, “You seriously know all these?” 

You shrugged a bit, taking the phone back as he closed it, handing it over and laying back down, “It was a hobby growing up. Mom bought me a telescope when I was young and I wanted to be an astronomer. Certainly changed that path.” 

It made you sad to think about how things used to be, before becoming a hunter, but your story was by no means unique. You had grown up with both parents being retired hunters, wanting more for you than that world, but the world had chased them down instead. Harvelle had taken you in for some time, but after both passed away you had gone off on your own. It was a story both tired and true for many.

“I had a period where I wanted to be a firefighter.” He spoke, calmly. It had surprised you to hear it from him, but the idea made you grin. Dean Winchester dressed in a full firefighter attire, battling… fires. 

It made sense, of course. You knew how his mother had died, “A firefighter? Dean Winchester, why as I live and breathe, what a sight that’d be.” You mocked a Southern accent and grinned widely, laughing slightly as he elbowed you in the ribs. 

“Hey, shut up! Least I’m not a nerd.” You laughed even harder, and soon he was laughing with you, shaking his head, “You’re lucky I like you. Not everyone knows my secrets the way Sammy does, Y/N.” You smiled warmly.

The idea of Dean Winchester had always been a nice one. It was a pleasant thought saved for days when you didn’t have many pleasant ones going on. You’d been close for going on a year now, and that’d been enough for you. Moments like this, sharing them with someone you considered a best friend, felt good. 

He had never been a warm and fuzzy guy, but then again, you’d never been a warm and fuzzy girl. It wasn’t either of your styles. But moments like this reminded you that he had a place in his own heart for the people he cared about. That he knew you well enough to know you’d be awake, moping, vying for sleep and that he’d rather be up with you.

Suddenly your eyelids felt heavy and your body was relaxing. He could feel it in your posture, “Hey, rest your head on my chest. Car’s too hard.” 

You smirked a little, of course responding by resting your head into his warm chest, “Good thing you’re nice and soft.” 

You poked his stomach teasingly and he smirked, “Yeah, you’re real lucky, kid.” You found yourself smiling still as you rested yourself into him and smelled his scent again. This time you could smell his deodorant along with the rest and it intermingled into a warm, comforting smell. Listening to his heart, calm and steady, rhythmic, it felt hypnotic. Slowly you were drifting into a warm sleep, one you suddenly felt yourself fighting.

Dean’s hand lifted and began to stroke your hair, “Get some rest, Y/N.” He kissed the top of your head in a gesture that said more to the fact that he was offering protection than anything else. You wondered, as you slowly drifted off to sleep, if it was possible to capture this moment for eternity. You had remembered what Cas told you that time he explained what Heaven was like, how it was your favorite moment lived on forever. You thought to yourself that this might be it. Staring at the stars with someone who cared enough for you to drive you out here. This may not have been where you imagined your life going, but it was times like this you reminded yourself it was where you were meant to be. Dying was easy, you had once said, but it was living that was the hard part. But there was nothing hard about this you thought as you drifted off to sleep.


	5. I Do Not Hook Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

“You know, you look really good in that top.” He was grinning at you, lopsided with his eyes half-open, holding the dying glass of whiskey in his hand. You cocked an eyebrow at him, having had only one drink yourself.

“I’m aware. How much have you had to drink, Dean?” You turned to face him, ignoring the sounds of the world around you. The group of you had decided to go drinking after a hunt, Sam and Cas debating something at a table nearby, though oblivious to Dean.

“Pft, who cares? I know I could still wreck that pretty little body of yours.” Your eyes rolled, almost to the back of your head. He had smoother lines which meant he was three sheets to the wind at this point.

The two of you were stationed at the bar itself, people around you, though not enough to attract attention. Dean was wearing his plaid shirt with a black undershirt, jeans and his usual boots on as well. His hair was a bit disheveled, though you guessed that was from drinking. It had been a while since any of you had a chance to unwind and this had seemed as good an opportunity as any. Even though you were still in some podunk town in Louisiana, it had still felt nice to have a motel room that was just down the street.

“C’mon, Y/N. Whadya say?” He had slurred his last words together so that it sounded more like ‘whadday’ but you got the gist. He was leaning towards you, breath reeking of booze as you pushed his head back gently with the palm of your hand.

“Winchester, you are drunk as all hell. We need to get you back to the hotel room.” He seemed pleased at this answer, you waving to the bartender with a motion to close out the tab and cut off Dean. He seemed to understand fairly well.

It was then you felt his arm around your shoulder, “Ah, look at you, bein’ a good girl and payin’ my tab. Lemme make it up to you.” As you withdrew your wallet to get out the money, throwing two twenties onto the counter for the man to keep, Dean leaned towards you with the likely aim of planting a rather sloppy kiss.

Thankfully, with your cat-like reflexes (in this case, faster than a drunk man), you held up your hand in a ‘talk-to-the-hand’ gesture as Dean plastered against your palm.

He always noted you had a fantastic “RBF” or, as you preferred, Resting Bitch Face. This was no different. From the moment the cash hit the counter to the moment his face attempted to make out with your hand, your face had not changed expressions. Some of this was just amusing. Watching Dean make an ass of himself while drunkenly trying to get you in bed was funny. It was also a little sad, you thought, not because it was pitiful but because you wished it was sincere. You wished, more than a little, that under normal circumstances he was tossing you his smoothes lines. Dean Winchester, trying to pick you up at a bar, commenting on how amazing your ass looked in your jeans.

It did look amazing.

Sam seemed to see what was happening as you tried to sling Dean’s arm around you shoulder, “All right, big bad hunter, let’s get you back to the room.”

The taller Winchester scooted up, “Want me to help bring him back? Looks like he had a uh… a few drinks.” His brother chuckled a little, Dean mocking the laughter as Sam slung his arm around his shoulder as well.

“I almost got her this time, Sammy. Almost. This close.” Dean was holding his fingers apart, Sam rolling his eyes as the two of you (despite the obvious height difference) attempted to lead Dean out of the bar and back to the motel.

It appeared that dragging Dean out of the bar was just the hard part, as he began to walk on his own as the three of you exited. Castiel came hurrying along, “Has something happened to Dean? He appears ill.”

You made a disgruntled face and raised an eyebrow, “Mental illness, maybe. He’s gonna regret this tomorrow. He’s not twenty-five anymore.”

“Technically, his age proximity is closer to that of a toddler if you include the times which Dean has died. I am including purgatory in this instance.” Your eyes rolled, patting Castiel on the back.

“You’re a good guy. Don’t ever change.”  
___

Once back at the hotel, Sam noted that he was going to try and get some rest. Dean had agreed to share a room with you since Sam’s snoring drove you nuts and Castiel not sleeping creeped you out. You had waved a goodbye to both of them, guiding Dean toward the hotel room, “S’just me ‘n you, Y/N. Don’t worry. I’ll go slow.” His smile was even more lopsided now and for a second you wondered if he needed his stomach pumped. Man was seriously drunk. But why? You understood the need for booze as much as the next person, but this seemed excessive. And what was that about ‘almost having you’ this time?

“Tempting, doll, but let’s work on getting you undressed first, OK? Mmmm, how’s that sound?” You bit your lip teasingly at him, aware you were joking, and aware of what was going to happen. Dean smiled and sat down on the bed.

“Gonna undress me? Hot.” You stayed at the end of the bed, looking up at Dean who was getting close to passing out. Just one gentle nudge.

“Hey Dean, why don’t you lay down and I’ll get these nasty clothes off you.” He smiled, widely, head hitting the mattress with ease. It was comical that he almost immediately fell asleep. His drunk snoring, while irritating, was nowhere at Sam-level irritation. Shaking your head you removed his boots, gently placing them on the floor.

Getting to your feet, you looked down at the drunken Winchester, “Dean… I wish things were different, sugar.” You reached out, stroking at his scruff a little, smiling at how peaceful he looked, even like this. It surprised you slightly when he reached up, grabbing your hand.

“Don’t go, Y/N. I need you.” His words were slurred and mostly drunk and asleep, but they touched you just the same. Nervously you withdrew your hand, sharply. You decided that it was a dream. The man had been affected by so many women it was hard to count. Lisa had, of course, been the hardest for him to get over. But the women he loved, the women he cared for, either died or left him. And wasn’t that just the pits? Hunting never came with small print when you signed up, but you imagined if it did, loss of a loved one would be on there.

Taking a breath, you worked to remove the plaid shirt, deciding he could sleep with his jeans on. You hung the shirt up and put his removed shoes by the door, taking off his socks as well and making a disgusted face as you tossed them aside.

What was missing? He looked calm. Dead to the world even. But he would get cold and there was no way you could put him under his own blankets he had passed out on top of. Sighing with the understanding of defeat, you removed the comforter from your bed and placed it over his.

You’d known Dean for a few years now, but this was the longest stretch you’d spent together. You’d never admitted feelings for the man, both out of fear of how he’d respond and out of fear that someone else would use it against you. You wondered if he’d felt the same, but it was impossible to know. Drunkenly hitting on you, what did that even mean? Nothing.

It felt like a weight, deciding that you couldn’t just stare at him asleep all night. So you made your way to the gas station, loading up on water, orange juice, ibuprofen, and some of those little pies that stores carried that were probably filled with weird chemical shit, but Dean loved.

Making your way back into the motel room, you tip-toed, carefully. The items were placed by his bedside table, leaving him a note beside it,

‘Drunklestiltskin, figured you’d need this stuff to recover. Pay me back by coming up with some actual pick-up lines this time.’

Leaning down, you pushed back some of his hair and pressed your lips against his forehead, “Get some sleep, Captain America.” You stood a moment and smiled at your own inside joke. He wouldn’t hear it, deep in another world for the time being, but you heard it. You knew he would feel it, at least you hoped so.

Taking a seat at the table by the window, deciding you weren’t going to get any sleep and maybe you’d watch over Dean to ensure he didn’t die in his own vomit, you got comfortable. You turned the TV on and kept the volume down, putting on some mindless history channel show with the subtitles on. And while you really enjoyed the Ancient Aliens bit, because that dude looked fucking whacked out, the marathon did its toll.

When the light came shining in far too early, Dean woke up with what was probably one of the worst hangovers in the last five years. He’d been drinking to forget, which while helpful in the short term never lasted well in the long term. But he did remember. He remembered making an ass of himself, of feeling warm lips on his forehead, of a hand against his scruff.

Turning, he saw the items on the table, smirking a bit as he read the note you’d written, shaking his head. This also lead him to realize that you weren’t in the bed, and he was covered in your blanket. He had a moment of being frantic before turning enough to see you huddled over, arms crossed in the chair by the bed. You’d been watching over him. God bless you, you had been watching out for Dean fuckin’ Winchester.

He thought to himself how gentle and peaceful you looked. Even with last night’s makeup on your face, your hair hanging by your face and shoulders, the sun was dancing on your exposed skin and you radiated. To Dean, you were radiant as the sun. He contemplated staring, though realized you were beginning to stir awake. He knew in that moment how you felt. If staying up to watch over someone wasn’t sign enough, the food and drink was.

Dean rumpled the blankets up a bit as he got back under them, somewhat fake snoring as you felt yourself waken. The sun was warm and welcoming to you, but your body was sore as hell from sitting in that chair.

Shit, what if he woke up and saw you? He looked like he was out, but to be sure you got to your feet, carefully tip-toeing over to your fairly bare mattress, letting your body melt into the mattress. While it wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, it was certainly good for now. But you still needed a blanket. Well, closest thing you had was Dean’s jacket. Maybe he’d care, maybe he’d rip you a new one, or maybe he’d stay passed out so long he wouldn’t realize you had done it.

Curling up, you wrapped yourself in the warm leather with a soft inside, smelling all of Dean. Smiling, you closed your eyes and let sleep take you over, not aware of the man in the other bed waking up, silently as he could, to let you keep sleeping. And all he could think as you lay there huddled into a ball was “Damn. She looks better in that jacket asleep than I do awake.”

Dean Winchester. Oddly sweetest guy in America.


	6. I Didn't Have A Damn Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

“C’mon, don’t you die on me, Y/N!” Dean was hovered over you, alternating between chest compressions, as you lay, lifeless. He was frantic, green eyes wide with fear and fright, leaning down to breathe into you, attempting to force life into what was appearing to be less and less hopeful as each second ticked by.

Sam watched, desperate. The hunt was supposed to be easy. Quick. It was the three of you and you had even waved it off as being more than simple. Werewolves had thick skulls, you had boasted, and you had sharp knives and speedy bullets. Dean had said you were cute and to stop it or else he’d throw up. Sam had agreed.

What you hadn’t expected, and rightly so, was the bolt of electricity that was zapped into you from the defibrillator. The werewolf was a human when you had attacked and she had assumed it was just you. The zap had hit you out of nowhere, knocking you to the floor and stopping your heart on a dime. What tragic irony that the thing made to save lives had been used in a stupid attempt to end yours. And with the goal of saving others. It was stupid.

“You can’t do this to me!” His voice was frantic as his attempts became more erratic to throw life back into your lifeless body. His eyes were beginning to fill with tears, and for the first time in a long time, he contemplated prayer.

But who would he pray to?

 

God was out of the question. He didn’t believe God even existed anymore, and if he did, he thought the bastard could shove it. Shove it right where the sun doesn’t shine. Apocalypses, Darkness, now this? No.

“Sweetheart, please… I can’t do this. I need you.” The compressions had stopped as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against your own. He began to whisper, words that you might never had heard, but words that found their way into your subconscious.

“Y/N…”  
____

Pie.

It was the first thing you could smell.

Stepping into the old, two-story home you looked around. The home itself was obviously lived in, furnished as one might expect a house in the middle of nowhere in midwest USA to be furnished. There were picture frames around, but it startled you to realize that they were all blank. While it was clear that at some point they held pictures, they no longer did.

Then you heard the humming.

It was beautiful. You could tell it was coming from a woman, the sound almost motherly though you supposed that was a maternal instinct often felt by women. And so you followed the sound, unsure how you even got here.

You remembered nothing before this moment. It was as if you had woken to a home, a house that was warm, smelling of pie and sounding of happiness. But none of that really struck you as odd. It felt more… different. A discomfort you couldn’t wrap your head around but you were aware was there.

And so you continued.

Your boots hit the hardwood flooring with ease. Despite the heaviness of the footwear you were surprisingly lithe and agile. Your form moved with ease as you examined the furniture. The television was an old TV, airing only static now, worn grey couches in the living room with it. Your eyes fell to the doorway of the kitchen, the source of both the smell and of the sound. Both were comforting and both called to you. Even if you hadn’t wanted to go forward, you understood you would have. She was calling to you.

“I’d offer you a slice of pie, Y/N, but it’s gotta cool down and we don’t have long.” The woman spoke as you stood in the doorway, feeling oddly out of place. She was pretty; long blonde hair held up in a sort of effortless ponytail, a white blouse and jeans on as well. Her movements in the kitchen were swift and clean. She appeared to almost glide as she removed the pie from the oven and placed it on the windowsill.

Outside it was clear, and light, but not sunny. You registered that it was bright but it felt almost artificial. But this woman had spoken and you still had not.

“I… I’m interrupting.” You spoke softly, your own voice confusing you for a second. She appeared amused and laughed softly, though you didn’t feel offended. She laughed like someone more concerned that you didn’t feel badly.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re not interrupting. If anything, I’m interrupting. But I had to get you here for a sec, see what the fuss was about.” She smiled warmly and walked to you, her green eyes lighting up, green eyes that reminded you of-

_Y/N, more than anything, I need you. Guns don’t mean a damn thing if I don’t have the strength to pick ‘em up. You gotta come back. I’m being selfish here._

-someone. But she was happy. You could see that. There was no rush to her voice or tone, even as she rubbed your arm gently, “C’mon, have a seat.”

You sat, as directed, at a smaller table within the kitchen, two chairs nearby as if meant for the occasion.

She sat across and seemed to eye you, her smile never fading. It occurred to you how sincere her smile was. This woman, whoever she was, was happy. You had a feeling that it wasn’t necessarily because she was seeing you, though you thought maybe she was happy to see you, “What are you interrupting?”

Again, your own voice felt foreign. You liked hearing hers. She sounded peaceful. Warm. Graceful. She seemed to laugh again and leaned back in the chair, “Nothing too important it can’t wait some time now. Few folks owe me a favor.” She winked at you, knowingly. But the wink was something so familiar, so-

_I wanted to tell you every day. How much I love you. From the moment you walked into my life I didn’t have a damn choice, you know that?_

-so strangely comforting. You felt yourself smile as well, a smile that felt like a warm blanket out of the dryer.

“I can see why he likes you. Probably hasn’t told you yet.” Confusion washed over your features, folding your hands in your lap and staring at them. There was nothing remarkable about the situation, but it felt important. You knew it was strange now that the details in the world around you were smudged. It felt like someone had photoshopped the lines off of things, including your hands.

“Who likes me?” You stared at her, curious, feeling memories stirring in your head but unable to touch them. They were like fish in a pond, and you were a cat trying to catch them. Too far down. Too deep.

“My boy’s been through a lot in his time. More than most. He’s had his share of heartache and pain, you know that?” You had an understanding that this woman was right. While you didn’t know who she was referring to, you did know that she was correct. Why would she lie to you? She was an angel, right? Maybe? No. That felt wrong.

“I just want him to be happy. Both of them. I never got to be there for them or have them live a normal life. But they never wanted normal, just happy. Guess that’s why he found you.” A knowing, sage sort of smile caressed her cheeks. There were some age lines, but the felt refined. Dignified. This was a woman of power, that much you knew. She was strong.

“So why am I here?” Your voice felt smaller now, as if beginning to dissipate into the atmosphere. Like smoke from a chimney you felt it dancing away from you.

Her hands reached out onto the table, waiting for yours. Understanding, you place your hands into hers as she held onto you, “Because it’s not your time, Y/N. You’ve got time ahead of you yet. Time to make him happy. Time to make yourself happy. Time to live.”

Her hands felt warm. They were worn in the way hands that had worked felt worn, reminding you of-

_So I’m begging you, please. I can’t lose you. I’ll sell my soul again if I have to. If all I get is five more minutes with you then it’s worth it. But I won’t do it without you. I can’t._

-of something comforting.

“I’m sending you back, because I’m a mother and I’m allowed to interfere when it comes to my sons. Heaven can’t stop me from doing that. God wouldn’t dare.” She smirked at you and at once you understood. It felt like a tsunami slamming into your chest as you remembered Dean. His voice, his smell, his sound, his touch, his eyes.

“Tell him he’s still my angel, OK?” She smiled at you, warmly. Genuinely. You knew who this was and at once you wished you could stay. The memories, the words, they were all pulling you back to a different world and you wanted so badly to hold her hand tighter and ask her questions. You wanted to know so much and you knew she had the answers.

But it was time.

With one last smile, she stood, letting go of your hands as you felt yourself pulled sharply, raised from perdition as Castiel might say.  
___

You woke.

Screaming.

Except you weren’t screaming.

Your mouth was wide and the air filled your lungs with purpose and need. You gasped as if each breath was your first. Your chest ached and was raw, feeling that Dean had let out one mighty punch to your chest in a desperate last attempt to revive you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N! I thought you were dead!” Dean wrapped his arms around you, strong and warm, holding to you. Comforting you.

Your body felt heavy and it felt weak, but Dean was warm. Your eyes fluttered a bit as you attempted to hold onto him, your breathing becoming steady.

“She said… she said you were still her angel…” Your voice was yours, but the memory was fading. You were speaking from somewhere not your own. You remembered Mary. Seeing her. Feeling her. Touching her. You knew she had pulled you into her heaven because she could. Because she was Mary Winchester and that was not a woman to trifle with.

“What…?” Dean pulled you away carefully, hands on your shoulders as he kept you sitting up, looking at you with his emerald eyes. A sleepy smile crossed your lips and you reached out, touching his face gently.

“You have the same eyes.”

He knew in that moment. In that second. He knew that his mother had brought you back in the same way he had known anything important in his life. The way he knew the sky was blue, or how he knew he’d die a hunter. He understood that his mother had brought you back for him because you were necessary. You had purpose. You were Dean   
Winchester’s entire world, and didn’t that mean something? You may not have been the person to invent a cure for cancer, but sometimes being important was more than that.

Purpose was more than just a definition. It was something powerful. As Dean held you close again, letting the world come back into focus and drift into view, you understood. Mary Winchester was bringing you back because you mattered.

_I love you, Y/N, and I will tell you every night before you fall asleep. I will make sure I you know it. I swear on my mother, if you come back to me I will tell you every day how much I love you. Starting today._

“You came back to me.” He stroked your back as you remembered his final words, his voice having creeped into your mind and caressed you back to life.

“I will always come back to you.”


	7. I Thought You Loved Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

“What exactly do you mean by ‘not as strong as other hunters’? You tellin’ me I don’t know how to defend myself?” Your voice had raised significantly as you shouted at your boyfriend. Of course, he only wanted to protect you, but often he put his foot in his mouth. He’d been doing this so long he felt he knew better, even if you’d been doing it almost as long.

“This ain’t a pissing contest, Y/N! I’m just saying that it makes more sense for you to come in second on a hunt sometimes because I can take a hit better!” His point wasn’t at all valid. While he was definitely physically more intimidating, Dean Winchester was not nearly as good a shot as you. Your aim had always been perfect. But for some reason it felt like he was just picking a fight.

“Fine, then you can take the whole bed, too!” Your face was red with anger now. Just once you wanted to be taken seriously. To be considered a hunter just the same as Dean was.

“Oh, what, you threatening me with sleeping alone now? I’m not taking back what I said just because you can’t handle it!” He had raised his voice, your eyes stinging vaguely with tears. He never said these kinds of things to you, not ever.

Fighting with a Winchester was always the worst. Dean was stubborn as hell and always knew exactly what to say. He’d known you for years now. You’d meant on a hunt, both attempting to take down a poltergeist. He’d been on it alone and had allowed you to tag along without much concern. You’d proven yourself, repeatedly. Sharp as a tack and with a quick wit and good aim. He’d fallen for you almost immediately.

When Dean had admitted his feelings, you almost didn’t believe it. By the time he did you’d worked a few other cases together and you two had worked well. Sure, you got into your share of arguments, but you were both stubborn creatures. Your arguments always got resolved quickly, though. He’d admit that he was quick to react and you’d admit that you were just feeling moody. You’d both laugh, he’d buy you a drink at a bar and give you his best pickup lines.

Spending time with Dean was always good. Always happy. Even the night you convinced him to sing “Heat of the Moment” by Asia while you played the guitar on Rockband, much to Sam’s dismay. He was always up for anything, especially if it involved you. Falling for you had felt right. He had said he was happy with it because he knew you could keep yourself safe. He worried, but then again, so did you. The man was always stepping into trouble. It’s like he wore an albatross around his neck.

“Threatening? No, I’m telling you that’s exactly what’s gonna happen. All you know how to do is push people away, Dean. It’s a wonder you’ve kept anyone around who hasn’t already been killed first.” You grumbled the last part to yourself, though aware he heard. It was meant to hurt him and you had no idea why. You weren’t normally so vicious and mean. In fact, as tough as you were, you were really just a big softie when it came down to it. With Dean especially so. You always let him get away with that pouty face and big goofy smile.

“Fine, then consider this done!” His voice raised but you had already stood. You were throwing what few things you had brought into the hotel room into a bag that you had used for the hunt. Most of your items were still in your own car, a crappy heap you used only to get you from one place to another. It was no Impala, to be sure.

You didn’t even blink as you slung your bag over your shoulder. The door was just about ripped off its hinges as you opened it and walked out, your boots slamming into the cement walkway of the motel walkway.

You had no idea what your next move was. All you knew was that you could hear Dean inside cursing and you were still fighting back those tears. Your knuckles were white as you held your bag and stared ahead, trying to decide what to do. It was too late now to drive back and you were too exhausted from your fight and the hunt. It always took an emotional toll on you.

Resigning yourself to your current situation, you made your way to the office and simply checked out the only other free room which was, of course, next to Dean. Putting your stuff down you sat on the edge of your bed. It was an older mattress, which was par for the course. The comforter was stiff from years of washing in hard water and starch. But you were never picky and as long as it didn’t have bed bugs you never cared. You always had Dean.

And he always had you, for that matter. You were picking at the threads in the comforter as you laid down, feeling yourself slowly drift off. Still in your hunting clothes you found yourself not caring. Absently you registered hearing your phone buzzing next to you, but still you continued to fall deeper asleep. Were you more aware of what was going on you might have found it odd that you’d laid down, barely able to reach out for your phone. Soon, however, sleep had claimed you and the memories of the day found ways to haunt you instead as you dreamed.  
___

“Dude, just give her some time. Y/N’s pissed off because you were an ass and she probably feels bad for being an ass, too.” Sam was talking to his brother on the phone, trying to help Dean through the latest fiasco. It had occurred to Sam that his brother really had no experience with any real relationship. The most he had was one-night stands. Save, of course, for Lisa. Even that was Dean living in a fantasy.

“But I sent her like, ten texts last night. She usually at least replies for me to shut up.” Dean had neglected to tell his younger sibling about your comment that had truly hurt being the one about losing the people who cared about him. It had hurt him to his core and he had at once remembered Charlie, Bobby, his father, Lisa… almost anyone he had loved. Dean Winchester did have an albatross tied squarely around his neck and he wondered if he could ever rid himself of it. Even the Mariner did eventually, right?

Sam had told him to again just give you time and that eventually you’d come around. Dean was skeptical. He had told you that you were done and he felt badly for it. He was impulsive but he wasn’t cruel and his words had felt cruel. He didn’t know you were next door and he wouldn’t have expected it. He always thought you could do better and he’d told you that once or twice. It was hard to convince him that he was the only one you’d wanted because he had always seen you as such a goddess.

Next door, however, you were beginning to stir. You were tired, though, and groggy as hell. It felt off. Wrong. Groaning slightly, your body felt like lead as you lifted your hand to grab at your phone. Even though it was next to you it took energy to turn it on and read the messages.

_-Y/N, you there?_   
_-Listen, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean what I said. I just get scared, OK?_   
_-I mean, not scared. Worried, I guess. Shit I don’t know._   
_-See what you do? C’mon, please. You’re everything to me._   
_-You’re right. Best damn shot I’ve ever seen. Better than me that’s for sure._   
_-If you need space I get that. Just… please don’t leave without telling me that. I wanna make sure you’re safe._   
_-I love you._

He felt like an asshole for saying it in a text message, but he’d been terrified. Losing you was worse than almost anything he’d imagined, and as you lay there reading the text, you felt it.

Strength and energy felt like it was being pulled from your body, dropping the phone as you groaned again, unable to make any real sound. You felt the door opening, hearing it crack on its old hinges, hearing footsteps enter. They were loud and hard and they didn’t belong to Dean. In your exhaustion you hadn’t put any wards or charms on the door nor had you done anything to protect yourself.

At least Dean’s safe… You thought to yourself as fear began to creep in. Someone was in the room and they were drawing closer. Close enough to smell the pungent sulfur coming off of them. Close enough to hear the heavy breathing as he stood.

“Remember me? We met once before. You were much younger than you are now…” He was in view now, a tall, lanky man, late forties with an accent you couldn’t quite place, “Dean would know me better. He was my pupil after all.” A strange sort of chuckle came from his lips and at once you understood who this was. The demon who had murdered your parents years ago, the same one Dean sometimes woke from nightmares screaming about, and here he was, in view, stroking your cheek as terror pulsed in your veins. Alastair.

“No…” Your voice felt far away and lost as you stared up at the man, trying to get your strength. But it was gone. He had done it.

“Trouble moving? Yes, hex bags can do that if given the proper ingredients. Make you susceptible to anger… make you irrational. Funny things, hex bags.” He reached down and into your own dufflebag, producing a small, velvet satchel and waved it at you, “I’m going to make Dean Winchester regret ever coming near me.”

“You’re dead.” Your voice was soft, but your words had a double meaning. It was a threat in its own right, one that you planned to make good on given the chance, and it was also a question. Hadn’t Dean offed him years ago? He said he did. He said he’d killed the jackass during an interrogation forced upon him by angels (what a weird sentence).

“I think not. I think I’m going to find a way to use you to get back at Mr. Dean Winchester. After all, we both know what my forte is.” He smiled, a wicked smile that you understood immediately.

You had once chance and you knew it. As he stood there, reaching towards you, you mustered everything you could. You remembered Dean, how much you loved him, you remembered your promises and your own strength, you remembered your nights together and your long car trips where he would let you drive the Impala.

All at once a scream erupted from your body, the only thing you could even manage, screaming out Dean’s name in a desperate attempt, a desperate hope that he would hear. Alastair looked shocked as he stood, “You stupid bi-” He was cut off sharply, the door flung open with wood splintering off the frame.

“Get away from her!” He had his gun drawn, likely uncaring whether or not it actually killed whatever it was that had gotten to you but knowing he had to try. He’d been walking by, seeing your car, outside your door when your scream alerted him. Your voice was impossible to forget and he had wasted no time in entering. Even with Alastair staring at Dean, he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t. He could see you on the bed and he wasted no time letting out numerous shots to the demon.

Outmatched, and aware of it, Alastair had vanished in a moment, leaving you on the bed, breathing labored but steady, “Hex… bag…” You were able to mutter out the words as you pointed to the small bag, Dean immediately withdrawing his lighter and setting it on fire, promptly destroying it. It lit green, smoking heavily before crumbling to ash.

Upon its destruction your own energy returned. It felt like a resurrection as you gasped, almost jumping up as Dean ran to you. Holstering his gun he wrapped his arms around you as you sat up. He gripped you, clinging to you as he stroked your hair, “Y/N, Jesus are you OK?” You held tightly to him as well, gripping his worn plaid shirt, one that had seen better days. It was your favorite.

He smelled comforting, the sulfur having left the room and the smoke not even mattering. He was holding you, “I’m OK… I’m OK now.” You buried your face against his chest as you curled into him. He felt warm. Safe. Protective. You knew then why you stayed with him through it all and it was because of this. Because who else would burst a door open and shoot a gun, knowing it wouldn’t hurt the guy, just to distract away from you? Who else would put their own life on the line without thinking? Who else texted you that they loved you because he was terrified you might never see it?

“I can’t lose you, Y/N. I can’t. I need you just as much as my gun, just as much as the blade, just as much as Sammy or Cas. You’re part of this. Part of me.” He pulled you away gently, cupping your cheek gently in his warm, worn hand. You could feel the years of fighting and rough skin, his thumb rubbing against your cheek as he watched you. His green eyes were wide, with a mix of love, adoration, terror, concern, and almost anything he never let anyone else see.

“I love you too, Dean.” You smiled at him and you could see he was starting to cry. Big, tough man who wore a leather jacket and a gun everywhere he went was beginning to cry. He’d almost lost you, though. He couldn’t bear the thought.

He pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, “I swear I will never let you get hurt. Ever. As long as I’m alive, you’re safe.” And he meant it. You could feel it coming off of him in waves. You believed in the supernatural, and you almost believed that he was your own angel. He was the man sent to protect you. Keep you happy. Safe. Good. Whole.

“Fine. I guess I’ll let you share the bed tonight.” You smiled at him, biting your bottom lip as you held back some laughter. He smiled and opened his eyes, staring at you.

“You’re lucky I like you.” He grinned at you, the grin you had loved so much, leaning in and placing a warm kiss on your lips.

“I thought you loved me.” You spoke, interrupting the kiss briefly. You felt him grin again and shake his head as your lips connected once more. In your life you had felt loss. You had felt moments where you were floundering and drowning. You had spent time by yourself, hunting to fill a void inside you. Meeting Dean had been more than just coincidence. He had done more than care about you. He had protected you and he had given you a home. At a time when you didn’t know if you belonged anywhere, he had shown you love. He had shown you a life with someone else and a life that was whole.

No more did you feel alone or lost. In his arms, tasting his skin, you felt renewed. You belonged somewhere, and it was somewhere wonderful. It was in the arms of the man who loved you for every part of you and for everything you were. Everything you could be. He loved you because he had known from the second he saw you his heart was no longer his. You had become a part of him. A part enough that he had conquered a nightmare just to attempt to save you.

You were a part of Dean Winchester and nothing would ever stop that.


	8. One Of The Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

“What if he winds up being a shifter, huh? Think of that?” Dean tipped his glass that probably had a little too much whiskey in it at Sam. His face was red, though Sam guessed that was more from the rants he had been going on for the past half-hour.

“You seriously think a shifter would ask Y/N out on a date?” Dean took a drink of the booze as though it were water and put it back on the table. He leaned ahead and pointed directly at Sam as though he were on trial.

“Stranger things have happened. So OK, he’s not a shifter, what if he’s a serial killer, huh?” Sam looked at his brother incredulously over the screen of his laptop, having heard most of this already. He opened his mouth to reply, though figured it wasn’t worth it. His brother had made a decision by now that wasn’t going to be shaken, especially not while he was consuming alcohol.

“I have a feeling she’d be able to take on a serial killer, Dean. I also have a feeling she’s fine.” Dean stood, finishing the alcohol and putting the glass down and letting out a huff between clenched teeth. It was worthless arguing with Sam about this. Your life could be in danger and what did he care! Sammy never considered that stuff.

“I’m going out for a drive.” He’d had a glass of alcohol and was aware that he was still below the legal limit. Dean certainly had built a tolerance that was sure. Sam contemplated telling him not to go stalk you. Dean wasn’t planning on following you. Mostly he just wanted to drown his sorrows and Sam wasn’t exactly going to listen. Better to go to a place that let you drown your sorrows in booze and where the guy running it had to listen to him.

For a few weeks now, since you’d moved into the bunker with them, Dean had wrestled with his own thoughts of you. His attraction had confused him because while it was certainly physical it was the emotional one that had triggered first. Whether he saw you coming out of your bedroom with your hair in tangles or whether it was you dressed up for this date, he was attracted.

You were smart. Smarter than Sam, he’d insisted. And you were a quick learner on hunts. You knew your own strengths and weaknesses and had played them against whatever you were going after. Hell, you even used Sam and Dean to balance it out. You were a good hunter and he’d thought you were great.

He’d managed to keep it professional for a while but it had been getting harder. When he bumped into you coming out of the kitchen, you flashing your bright smile as you apologized, nose buried in a book, he had stumbled over his words as he tried to brush it off. You’d giggled a bit, telling him he was a goofball, and he’d half-grinned at you as you walked away.

 _Stupid…_ He had mumbled it to himself as he went to get a beer and a sandwich in the kitchen. You were infuriatingly wonderful.

So when you let it slip that a guy had asked you out on a date from your jaunts into town, he had tried his best to be supportive. Sam had told him it was fine and to be positive but it was hard not to notice how upset he was. His brother knew his feelings and Cas definitely wasn’t someone to bring any of it up to, but he didn’t want help. He wanted you to notice him.

Getting into Baby, he turned on the engine with a bit of a frustrated flick to the engine. It purred beneath him and he couldn’t help but at least appreciate the one woman who would never fail him. He felt guilty for thinking it but hell, why not? You were out on a date with some shmuck from the library who didn’t know you the way he did. Would you even be able to tell him you were a hunter? He snorted and doubted you would. What did you even have to talk about? Did he know your favorite color? Favorite food? What personality traits irked you? Did he even care that you hated fine dining? Burgers were preferred.

The drive was freeing, the air cool and crisp but not yet cold. It didn’t bite through his leather canvas jacket as he kept the window down and let the world roll by. He understood that if he stayed in the bunker he’d only think of you more. He imagined he might saunter into your room and look around. He’d claimed you were a sap for printing out a few group photos of you guys, especially the one where Cas had grinned. Truthfully he liked it. He also liked that the one with the two of you where you’d pretended to be forcing a smile was by your bed.

Pulling into the bar down the street from the main walk, Dean adjusted himself and looked at the dive. It wasn’t anything special, to be sure, but it would do the trick. He knew the locals pretty well by now and it was as good a place as any to drown his sorrows.

Opening the door, he did a double-take, stopping as he watched you sitting at the bar proper, a beer in front of you and no one else around. You were still dressed in that killer outfit, the black one with a splash of color he’d liked but never told you. Every part of you looked like it was on fire, except for the fact that you were slumped over and drinking a beer.

It seemed surreal as he walked inside the bar, carefully making his way towards you. It was strange to him how you had no idea just how beautiful you were. There was no way to really grasp that, he guessed. Even with you staring at the wooden bar top there was a sad kind of beauty to you. Eyes lined with color and mascara to make the color pop. The lighting was poor but he knew it was you from the second he had seen you.

“Whiskey double, on the rocks.” He took a seat next to you without actually saying anything. Your eyes glanced over at him as you went back to your beer. You’d never had said so but you had come to the bar hoping that Dean would show up. The fact that he’d shown up so quickly was a bit of a shock.

“Aren’t you gonna ask what I’m doing here?” Your voice was passive as you picked up your dying beer and finished it, flagging the bartender as he placed Dean’s drink down to refill your own. And he did. Dean took his own sip and shrugged.

“What, a place like this? I figure the natural ambiance probably drew you in.” He grinned at you and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit. It was quiet for a moment before you got your new beer but neither of you minded the silence as it danced and snaked between the two of you. It was a comfortable silence.

“Apparently I’m not ‘girly’ enough for him.” You said it without a prompt, leaning back a bit as you picked up the beer and drew from it. The date itself had been awkward from the get go, but you had wanted to give it a chance. Why not, you had figured? Dean would never be interested in you and it was best to just try something else.

“Wait, what?” Dean turned and looked at you with a contorted face, confused as hell.

“Yeah. Not girly enough. Said he likes girls ‘daintier’ or some shit.” You considered the sentence and burst out with small laughter, Dean doing the same as he considered the contradictory nature of what you’d said.

“Well, guys like that are assholes. Trust me, I know about assholes.” He sipped his drink as you consumed more of the beer, grinning a bit. You’d personally never considered him an asshole. He’d been the guy you trusted with almost all your questions and who had been there to help adjust you to a whole new life. He’d even offered you the bunker when you had nowhere else to go.

“You wish you were an asshole. No, you’re kind of a teddy bear.” You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, messing with it a bit with a smile. He was fighting his own smile as he pretended to be bothered, swatting at you a bit.

“What’re you my mom?” You chuckled a little and kept back to yourself, looking around the bar a bit.

“So what happened? Besides him being an asshole.” He was staring at the glass, suddenly uninterested in the booze that sloshed within.

“Took me to some weird sushi fusion place. I tried to make a joke about the place trying too hard to be cool and he said it was his favorite place. So you know me, I got quiet, tried to make it better with some small talk. I asked if he’d watched the game since the Patriots destroyed the Dolphins last weekend, and nothing. He didn’t even look at me when he said he liked his women more ‘womanly’.” You used air quotes at this, looking almost defeated.

It took a lot to bring you down like that but the man had questioned your femininity. Who was he to do that? But Dean was just as mad. He shook his head angrily, “Guys like that wanna feel like the strongest person in the room because they’re afraid of their own shadow. Guy like that wouldn’t know what to do with an actual woman like you.”

His words had surprised you a bit but it was flattering. A flush crossed your cheeks and you smiled at him, “Dean, you calling me a lady?” He picked up his glass, very similar to what he had done with Sam, and pointed at you.

“I’m calling you a woman, Y/N. Ladies can’t fire a gun the way you can, or stomach the things you see on a daily basis the way you can. Anyone can date a lady, it takes a real person to date a woman.” He finished his drink quickly and shook his head a bit. It was clear he had forced some courage to get those words out but they had felt so good.

“Dean Winchester, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.” He turned back to the bartender and put the glass down, motioning for another.

“Maybe you need to hear things like that more often, Y/N. Keep people close who’ll tell you that stuff.” He was mumbling a bit to himself as he spoke and your smile widened.

“Are you suggesting we spend more time together?”

“No. I mean, yes. I guess. I don’t know. I just think someone like you deserves good people in their life, not assholes like that douchebag eating sushi.” A laugh escaped your lips and Dean looked over. He smiled and chuckled a bit himself. He put an arm around you and pulled you against him sideways a bit, kissing the top of your head. It was a sweet gesture, and one you hadn’t expected from a man like Dean.

“If that means I gotta take on that responsibility, I guess I can manage.” He smirked at you, a crooked smirk that made you blush in its own way. He was a charmer, there was no denying that, but he was trying with you now.

“Thanks, Dean.” You smiled up at him as he let go, drinking more of your beer as you eyed him. It had occurred to him, as the light made you appear almost like you were glowing from this angle, how much you meant. Seeing you sad had almost killed him and were he a lesser man he’d consider finding the guy and kicking his ass. But you’d frown on that. No, he wanted to focus on making you feel good.

Your smile just about destroyed him in the best way. He forced himself to look back at the bar top as if it held the secrets to the world, “Yeah, well, just don’t tell anyone or else people might think I’m nice.” You laughed again and he felt his body practically move at the sound. You were good. Of all the things in the world you were one of the best.

The rest of the night had been spent talking. Your drinks had finished and you’d both moved on to soda or water. Neither of you wanted the moment disturbed by alcohol. Dean found it comforting how open you were, even when he was sharing his more disturbing stories. You’d only seen it as a challenge and come up with your own.

By the end of the night the two of you were smiling and laughing as you exited the bar, “I’m glad the guy was an asshole.” You smiled up at Dean and shivered a bit from the air that had turned sharper. Instinctively he shrugged off his jacket and put it around you. It was warm and smelled of Dean, of years of hunting and drinking, of years of driving in a car. It was everything.

“I’m just glad he wasn’t a shifter or a serial killer.” Dean grinned and you looked at him confused. He started laughing as the two of you walked to his car, Dean opening the door to the Impala to let you in.

“Wait, what?” He shook his head.

“Ask Sammy when we get back. He’ll tell you.”

Dean wasn’t sure why, but he knew something was different now. From the way you had eased into his jacket and then the car, to the way you had softened when he kissed your head. He knew things would be easier between the two of you and it was a good feeling. Nothing could stop Dean Winchester from loving you.


	9. He Brought Me Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

You woke calmly. Warmly. Gently. The sun was shining into the clear window of your room, lighting up the world around you. A down comforter covered your body from the cool air threatening to sneak in. Out of habit you pulled the blanket down over your head, curling up inside the warmth.

“Room under there for another?” His voice was deep and gruff from sleep, but you recognized it immediately. A smile danced on your lips as you turned to face the partner in your bed.

“Depends on if you know the password.” There was some laughter and movement as Dean pulled back the blanket, ducking under it with you. He was shirtless but wearing boxers, smiling as he pushed back hair that had fallen by your face.

“What about a kiss?” It didn’t matter how many years you two had been together, he could still make you blush. Crimson color danced on your cheeks and you felt yourself flush warmly, a slight giggle escaping your lips. Few other people in the world could make you smile or laugh the way Dean Winchester could. Few people could make you laugh the way he did or melt in a moment.

He leaned in, kissing you warmly. He tasted like sleep and smelled like soap, no sign of leather or liquor on him. Pulling away he continued to pet your hair gently, “So how’d you wanna spend the day off? I thought we could go see a movie, didn’t you want to see The Martian?” You remembered going off about what a great science fiction book it had been, and how accurate the science was. He had told you what a nerd you were with a smile on his face, though you hadn’t expected him to remember. He always did, though.

“You sure? You won’t be jealous of Matt Damon for a few hours?” You grinned at him widely and he rolled his eyes. Always easy to press his buttons.

“Yeah well, you’re not married to Matt Damon so I’ve got a leg up in that department. Guess you’re stuck with Dean Winchester.” He wrapped his warm, strong arms around you and pulled you close to him. He was comforting and safe. Under the blanket the world felt like it belonged only to the two of you and it was good.

His hand reached out and intertwined with your own, gold ring resting comfortably on your left hand alongside a modest engagement ring. Sam had offered to help buy you an engagement ring after he’d graduated law school (with honors, of course) but Dean had insisted he do it alone. He’d worked extra hours at the construction site and had come home late numerous times. You remembered telling him he didn’t have to do it, as you thought he was just trying to earn extra income. But he’d surprised you with a simple yet beautiful engagement ring. You’d never been a flashy kind of woman and he knew that. He kept with your wishes.

The moment, while beautiful, was also fragile. You wished you could frame it and put it on a desk somewhere to look at when things got tough. It was one of those snapshots you thought you’d remember forever. So when the covers came caving in by the delirious Siberian husky, you weren’t shocked.

The two of you laughed as you pushed the blankets off, your barely covered body shuddering at the sudden hit of cold air as the canine licked at you and pawed. Dean grinned and ruffled the dog a bit, “Hey, Cas!” The dog was as energetic as anything, rolling around now with Dean as he got up, “Lemme take Cas outside and you can get ready. Hopefully you won’t need an hour like last time.”

He grinned at you playfully and you tossed a pillow as he dressed himself, the dog taking this as a sign to participate. It continued jumping and rolling until Dean finally got himself together enough to take him out. You sauntered into the bathroom now and looked in the mirror, grateful that the large bedroom had the attached bathroom. Things had been good for you. You had a job you loved that had introduced you to the man you loved. He was good. Your life had been a strange one but he had always been a solid. Those times when you were first dating and you worried your little quirks or habits might scare him away had only drawn him closer. You remembered how when you’d asked him if something bugged him, he’d smiled and told you it had never crossed his mind as anything other than endearing.

It was hard to imagine what a perfect life looked like but this was close. A dog, a home of your own, a solid marriage, and a happy family. Even Dean’s parents were pictures of love. Mary and John had always made a note to visit at least once a month, not including the monthly dinner with extended family. Sam’s own son, Henry (named of course after John’s father), was a bubbly young three-year-old. He was reading like there was no tomorrow and Jess had commented how good you’d been with him when you did visit.

Perfect.

The word echoed. It felt warm but it felt awkward. You shifted a bit as you readied yourself for the day, trying to grasp the concept. You’d never pegged yourself as someone who might grow up into a white picket fence, but that’s exactly what had happened. You could hear Dean outside with the dog, running around in the yard with him. You remembered getting the dog and wanting to name him “Angel” because of the two white patches on his back. Dean had insisted “Cas” had a better ring to it. He said it was because he looked like a Casanova, but you’d liked it regardless.

 

Once ready you made your way down the stairs and to the kitchen. It was a small home but a well-lived in one. The kitchen was modestly decorated and was reminiscent of something from the Midwest. Dean had always liked the quaint style and said it reminded him of Kansas. You’d conceded because Dean being happy made you just as happy.

Standing in the kitchen, fully dressed now with the sun pouring in, you felt it again. Happiness. Peace. Calm. Tranquil. Maybe tranquil was a better word for it. The sun was warm against your skin as you watched Dean run in circles with Cas. Both looked happy as hell, oblivious to you staring. The smile on Dean’s face was unmistakable. Creases danced at his eyes and mouth where smiles had been etched into him. He looked to be free. He had responsibilities, of course, but there were no burdens. He was happy. He had an airy feel as he ran and you had wanted to capture that too, if you could.

Feeling eyes on him, Dean finally did look up. His eyes caught yours and the smile remained. He stood and jaunted over to the porch to come back inside, leaving Cas to run about the yard and get some exercise. Walking inside you could feel the cold air dance in before closing the door. His hands were chilly as he placed them around your waist, nuzzling in close, “Decide what you want to do today?”

He had closed the gap between you two and smiled. Years of smiling was aged onto his face, but why would there be anything else? Sure you two argued but there were never any bad fights. He was never angry. Never hurt. Dean was aware of the charmed life he lead and had told you that it was what he’d always hoped for himself. Of course, he knew Sam would have that life, but he never thought he could. Not until he met you.

“I want to stay here forever.” You muttered it quietly, a soft smile on your own features. There was no sense of sadness or dread that you had felt. Nothing heavy weighed on your shoulders here. Things were good. You were good. You were happy.

“Can’t stay here forever, sweetheart. Gotta go sometime.” You burrowed into his shoulder, nuzzling up against him and taking in his scent. Cologne, soap, deodorant, faint smell of dog. Nothing you didn’t expect from the man.

“Ah, but you have to. Tell you what. Tell me your happiest memory.” His arms were around you now, rocking you gently as if you were slow dancing. You felt his fingers playing absently with your hair as you pressed your face against his welcoming chest. What a strange request.

“There’s too many. I have to think.” He chuckled a bit, hearing it as he kissed your head and continued to dance to a tune that didn’t exist. As if on cue, he began to hum a ballad you weren’t familiar with, your movements in line with the makeshift music.

You thought back to when you first had your date. He took you to one of the better restaurants in town. He was dressed formally and in all he looked out of place. Handsome as hell but terribly out of place. You had stepped in, watching as his breathing hitched, watching him smile, and telling him you’d rather have a burger. Relief had washed across his features, leaving the two of you dressed to impress sitting inside the local dive.

Or maybe it was the day he asked you to marry him. He had been so nervous, forgetting things all day, tipping you off almost immediately that something was wrong. But when watched him drop to one knee in the privacy of your own home your heart had flown. Everyone cooed that they had known it would happen, but you were simply happy.

It wasn’t any of those, though. Closing your eyes you remembered, “It was the night you took me to an old diner outside of New Orleans. It had been a late night and we were both so tired. You had told me how proud you were of my work, of how good I was. You insisted that the meal would be on you.” You smiled as you remembered, the smells of the restaurant coming back, the sweat, grease, even the humidity of the place was tangible.

“The waitress brought some weird crawfish plate, and you grinned because you knew I wouldn’t want to eat it once I saw it. And I didn’t.” You laughed a little, remembering the plate overflowing with fish and assorted other items, “But you waited. When I was poking the plate, you had finished a bite of your burger and you told me you loved me.”

 

His grin was what had caught you. Across the table he was staring, waiting as you looked up, disbelieving. He had told you he loved you, and in your stupor, shoved a bite of the food into your mouth. You’d enjoyed it, numb a little by his statement, though returning the sentiment. To this day crawfish had remained your favorite.

“Yeah. That’s my favorite too.” His voice was sad now. He had withdrawn and you had felt it. Your hold to him had been stronger suddenly and he felt it. He kissed your head again and murmured into your hair, “It’s gonna be OK, I promise. You have to trust me that it’s gonna be all right. I know you don’t want it, but it’ll be OK.”

He pulled from your grasp with his strong arms, “Remember that one, OK? Remember that even in paradise, your best memories are the most sincere. You’ve got to keep on fighting, sweetheart. And I’ll be here when it’s time to go. All of this will be.” He held you tightly again but it was fading. Tears were in your eyes as you felt it all come back.

Rowena had done it. A slow spell that had turned his insides into nothing had been more than Cas could handle. Even your desperate attempt to find and destroy a hex bag that didn’t exist had been futile. In his last moments, as Sam scrambled, you held his hand tightly as he lay on the floor,

Remember Louisiana? You thought you were gonna hate that crawfish. Didn’t though, did you? Best damn food you ever ate, am I right?

His cough had been pained, unable to stop the wincing on his face as his hold to your hand became weaker.

If you go back, I want you to bring someone else this time. Don’t go alone. I know you’re gonna wanna, ‘cause you’re gonna wanna mope, but don’t, OK? Bring Sammy or Cas, or, hell, make good with Crowley and bring that bastard. Just… don’t do it alone.

You’d begged him to hold on, to not let go, but he had to. The pain hadn’t been more than he could handle but the spell was. It had killed him and in turn, you, at the drop of a hat. You were destroyed. So destroyed that you went on to take a Djinn on your own. So destroyed that when you’d cornered him, you asked him to give you paradise and you’d let him live. Suicide by Djinn, wasn’t that just special?

As the world came back into focus, you found yourself lying on a motel room bed. Beside you was a sleeping Sam, looking like he’d been awake forever. Castiel was nearby, staring at you as you woke. But he didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. He understood the look on your face. And despite the tears that made their way down your cheeks, you could feel his breathe and taste his kiss. You felt Louisiana all over again, “He brought me back.”


	10. A Home With The Winchesters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

It really had come down to this. You stared at the gold ring sitting simply in your palm, decorated with three modest emeralds. It felt light in your hands but heavy on your mind. Suddenly, nothing in the world felt more complicated than this did right now. Your eyes traced over the ring your grandmother had given you before she passed with the words, “I was going to give this to your fiancée, but it looks like that’s never gonna happen.” Old battle axe to the end, but she loved you. One of the last traces of your old life sitting in the palm of your hand and you could only think of the song “I got the whole world in my hand” because that’s exactly what was happening.

“So you gonna trade it or not?” The man behind the glass had seen better days. He was a balding man in his fifties who had the stomach of a man who’d been drinking beer his whole life. His hair was thinning and grey and his skin was leathery from two packs a day. If you had more money you’d considered picking back up the habit yourself.

“Three hundred.” Your voice was solid but you couldn’t make eye contact. This bartering was killing you and that’s what was going to kill your stand.

“Lady, I told you two-fifty was all I’m willing to give you. You wanna find a legit buyer then go ahead and feel free.” He had seen your type before. While you weren’t jonesing for meth or heroin, you were jonesing for something more valuable.

Your stomach rumbled, hard, and you looked down after placing a hand on it. It’d been two days since a solid meal and soup kitchens were out of the question. The man was staring at something else as you contemplated your future in a ring in your hand. The last of your money had been spent on a box of silver bullets from a dealer who specialized in hunters. He’d scammed you for fifty dollars more than they were worth, but you needed them. There was a group of werewolves and Garth had told you no other hunters were around. He’d asked why you were so eager to have backup, but you hung up before answering.

Now you knew why people made deals with crossroads demons. If you didn’t know Crowley from dealings past you wouldn’t have thought twice. But you did and so you did.

The man had stepped away now (Aaron, was his name?) and was helping two other folks. You’d vaguely registered them entering but your anxiety was boiling. Your need for food and supplies was outweighed by everything else. The credit card you’d managed to apply for (and get) was on its way to a home two states over of a family vacationing in Europe for the next four months. You knew the schedule of the house sitter who got the mail and you were due to get the card. But it wouldn’t be soon enough. You needed gas and you needed food.

When a hand touched the small of your back you jumped a bit, turning to see a surprised Dean, “Woah, hey, Y/N. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He stepped back a bit, dressed in his FBI suit, Sam standing by him and smiling at you.

“No, it’s fine. Surprised to see you that’s all.” Your hand closed tightly around the ring and you pulled it from view. The idea of anyone knowing that you were down to pawning off possessions just to make it by seemed embarrassing. Not that you knew many folks beyond the hunting community, but Sam and Dean felt like folks who you certainly didn’t want to know.

“You investigating the animal attacks, too?” You shrugged your shoulders, knowing he was talking about the werewolves. You had taken out two of the three, but the third was giving you grief. It was why you had to go get more bullets. Scrappy little ahole.

“Yeah. Managed to get two out of three of the… mountain lions.” You glanced sideways to the pawn shop owner who was acting like he was put on hold by the Comcast people. You were more annoyed now than before.

“Two mountain lions yourself? That’s impressive.” Sam nodded his head and smiled a bit, though Dean was just smirking at you.

“Yeah. For a girl.” You punched his arm out of annoyance, the pawn shop man finally coughing and speaking up, obviously unimpressed.

“So you gonna give it up or what? I don’t got all day.” Your stomach rumbled again, as if also alerting you to the fact that this man had a point. Two-fifty wasn’t amazing but it was enough. You could get some cheap food, fill up gas for at least a few more trips and you’d get to Montana in time.

“I… yeah.” You felt defeated as you unfolded your hand, the ring appearing. Dean’s face contorted as he looked at you.

“You selling your grandmother’s ring?” Had he seriously remembered? You did recall getting drunk with him a few months back and telling stories. It was likely you told him about the ring since you usually wore it at bars. Helped keep guys from hitting on you most nights. No one wanted a taken woman.

“It’s not a big deal.” You played it off and the pawn shop owner looked eager to get the ring in his hands. Skeezeball was probably going to sell it for at least two grand. That’s around what it was worth. If you’d had time you’d have considered selling it for that much, but time was not something you had in any capacity.

“It is a big deal. Hey, dickbag, how much were you gonna give her for this?” He leaned towards the glass and the pawn shop owner looked suddenly offended. He was still under the impression that Sam and Dean were FBI agents (since he didn’t look too bright) and was the type to be intimidated by such authority.

“F-four hundred. But she wanted to sell it, man. I mean sir! She wanted to sell it.” Dean looked thoroughly unimpressed, raising an eyebrow as he turned back to you. He had a look of what was potentially annoyance and frustration balled into one. You knew that look.

“Gonna rip off a woman like that? I don’t think so, pal. C’mon, Y/N. We’re leaving.” He placed his hand back on your lower back, though this time with more purpose. He was guiding you out whether you liked it or not. Your hand shoved your ring back into the pocket of your old jeans as you walked out with Dean, glancing back only briefly before stepping into the autumn air of the Midwest.

“What’re you doing, Dean? I need the money.” You were pouting somewhat, mostly because you hadn’t had a decent meal and you lacked the energy to be an adult.

“What am I-? No. I’m stopping you from making a stupid decision. What do you even need the cash for anyway?” A louder rumble came from your stomach. Thing had a friggen set of ears, you were sure. Your face flushed scarlet and you turned away, making your way back to your car. At least that was running well for now.

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about the ‘mountain lion’ either. I’ve got that.” Your voice had lost any softness it might have had upon seeing Dean Winchester. You didn’t like the idea of selling the ring from your fair-weather grandmother, but it had been your choice. What did you have now? An empty stomach and a quarter-tank of gas.

“Listen, if you need money we can front you some stuff for food.” Sam called out to you and Dean mentally facepalmed. For a man that was more than good with words he sometimes put his foot in his mouth.

“I don’t need charity. I need a burger.” You spat out the words and stopped at your car, looking inside only to realize you’d locked the keys inside your car. What a great fucking day. The window wasn’t cracked and you could jimmy the lock but that came with the problem of damaging the door. Which cost money.

“And I need a break!” You shouted the last part at the car itself, which was certainly not a sentient being, but you didn’t care.

“Hey, sweetheart. Bring it down a notch, OK?” Tears were falling down your cheeks before you understood that you were even crying. This was so stupid, and in front of the Winchesters. It barely registered that Dean had taken you into his arms as you cried, feeling like weak whimpers as he guided you towards the Impala.

“Life is the worst.” You spoke muffled into his shirt as he opened the door.

“You’re tellin’ me, sister.” He guided you into the front seat, much to Sam’s dismay, though one look from Dean to his brother said that this was an executive decision. And so you sat in the front of the Impala, feeling like a dope. No money, keys locked in your car, sitting with the Winchesters. You’d been ready to sell your own stupid grandmother’s engagement ring.

The drive down the road didn’t register either, your crying turning into pitiful whimpering before you just kind of stopped. You watched as Dean pulled into a diner on the outskirts of town, parking and getting out. He looked nice with the suit on, you thought to yourself as you go out with him, Sam following, “Why are we here?” 

“You serious right now? I’m feeding you whether you like it or not.” You nodded at him, half-heartedly. Truthfully it felt nice to have someone taking care of you. It felt good to have someone who gave a crap.

“If you decide after a full meal that you still wanna sell that ring, then you go ahead. But I want you doin’ it with a clear head, you get me?” His voice was firm and you nodded more fully. It felt like you were being scolded by dad. If you ever had a dad to be scolded by.

The three of you went inside, Sam and Dean sitting on one side of the booth and you on the other. The diner was nothing special. It looked like every other diner in the Midwest that claimed it had the best apple pie or the best hamburger in the state. You would have eaten a stale bag of chips at this point, though.

Dean didn’t hesitate when the waitress came over, a woman in her forties that had a smile that made you smile. You decided you liked her. Dean ordered a plate of onion rings to start, aware that you were going to devour them. They were entirely for you. Reading the menu was almost painful at first. Everything looked delicious and you had wanted to get everything on there.

“Lemme guess… Y/F/F?” You peeked up from behind the menu and smiled widely at him, nodding. He grinned at you, a crooked grin that said he was feeling better about all this. And so were you. You had no time to consider being embarrassed, however, as the onion rings came over. These could have been fried last week, but you went to town on them like they’d been deep fried in gold. If gold tasted good.

“How long’s it been since you had a meal, Y/N?” Sam spoke, trying to be nice, though aware it was a touchy subject. You paused the inhalation of onion rings to respond, quietly.

“Uhm… a few days. I mean, I had a pack of peanuts the other day, but that’s really it. Lost my last few dollars getting silver bullets to take out the werewolves.” You went back to eating and Sam shifted. Neither liked the idea of a hunter being on their own with no way to take care of themselves personally. You’d always been one of the ones on the outskirts, which was why Garth had Sam and Dean personally check out the case you’d hung up on him about. He knew it was a rare occasion that you asked for any kind of help as you didn’t speak much to the other hunters.

Sam and Dean asked you questions about the other werewolf that hadn’t been caught and you looked irate. You rolled up your shirt sleeve and showed them the bruising and cut on your arm from where he’d got you before getting away. They agreed to take on the werewolf themselves if you agreed to rest. Dean mentioned the motel room and that you could wash up there. You supposed you needed a shower, too.

The meal had been heavenly when it came over. It had been nice to finally sit down and talk with the boys. They were funny, you gave them that. Sam shared some information on the Whispers they’d encountered and you found it fascinating. He talked about the lore behind them and how to get rid of them. Dean told you about Cas discovering Netflix and binge-watching shows. You asked what he was on to now, he said that the angel had discovered Breaking Bad. You almost choked on your food laughing but you’d kept steady.

Once you were done, Dean got the check and you thanked him under your breath. He smiled but didn’t say anything. It felt nice to finally sit and talk with people. The Winchesters had a reputation, certainly and you’d worked with them more than once, but you’d always just been a mystery. Everyone had someone but you’d had yourself. It was good until it wasn’t. Like now.

On the drive back you’d taken the back seat. You felt like a real person now that you had a meal in you and some leftovers. You wanted to go into a coma, almost falling asleep several times on the drive as the boys stayed quiet. Their motel room was the usual kind of room you’d stayed in before going broke. Floral blankets, a worn kind of smell, and comfort. Dean told you to get comfortable and shower while they finished up the hunt, and you were happy to oblige.

It felt weird, standing in the room in your thrift shop clothes, looking at the boys’ things. They had been prepared for the hunt, which was nice, leaving you to take your leave. You’d never asked for anything today but they had given it just the same. You briefly wondered if this was what family felt like and decided that it was.

Your shower felt good. It was a longer shower than necessary but you also hadn’t had a good one in a week. There was even some lotion on the counter which you took advantage of. The downside to all this, however, was that you needed new clothes. Tip-toeing in your towel into the room, the boys still on the hunt, you dug through Dean’s bag.

After a moment or two of searching you found an oversized t-shirt and some clean boxers, figuring Dean wouldn’t care. Hoping, at least. You threw them on, feeling the warmth and smelling the shirt a bit. It was nice. Clean. Tossing the towel back on the hook in the bathroom you decided to take a short nap. Pulling back the sheets on the mattress, you snuggled under them happily and almost immediately fell into a deep, deep sleep.

By the time the boys returned, hours later to be sure, Dean was a bit beat up but otherwise fine, Sam shaking his head, “She was right, he was scrappy.” Dean gave his brother a look of annoyance as he walked into the room.

“Scrappy my ass. Thing was on ‘roids.” He stopped as he noticed you on the bed, sleeping. He could tell you’d taken one of his shirts, though it didn’t faze him. He smiled a bit, a crooked smile and looked at Sam, “Guess that answers our question.”

“Guess so. Think she’ll get along with Cas?” Sam mused.

“Fuck, I don’t know. It’s not like introducing a cat into a house with a dog.” Sam shrugged his shoulders a bit at Dean.

“It kind of is. Least she’ll be safe. And she’s a good addition. Her knowledge base is solid and if she took down two werewolves on her own in her condition, she’s a better hunter than most.” Dean nodded to that, beginning to unpack his items, both keeping quiet as you slept deeply.

It was strange to think that within 24 hours, you had gone from a broke hunter about to give up the one thing you had left to a hunter taken into a family. Sam and Dean had agreed what a good addition you’d be and Sam had asked if Dean would be able to keep his emotions in check. It wasn’t exactly a mystery that he’d always had a thing for you. Now that you’d be relying on them Sam was more hopeful than anything that you might keep his impulsivity in check whether intentionally or not.

For the first time in a long time, whether you knew it or not, you had a home. And a home with the Winchesters was a home for life.


	11. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader (Based off Adele's 'Hello')

Daylight seemed to burn through your eyes as you woke in the old motel room. Time had a strange way of passing for you these days, feeling as though it was dragging only to realize weeks had gone by. The room was vacant and somehow it added to the chill enveloping your body. The emptiness that rang out was clear and you could feel it eating away at you. You were unsure how long it had been since you’d seen him. Days? Weeks? Months? It all felt the same. Like a grey haze that you were making your way through.

Standing, you drifted to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. Your skin had paled considerably and your hair felt lifeless. Dark circles were under your eyes. Sleep had been a fickle mistress as of late and your time in the world of rest had been limited. You could feel it. Your limbs were heavy as you moved, taking great effort to dress yourself for the day.

The last time you had seen Dean Winchester, really spoken to him, was terrible. It had been another fight about how he seemed to forget you existed when he got into a hunt. You’d felt hurt that he’d neglected to call you back and told him you were done. He had kept quiet at your response and you’d become furious. Packing what you could you had gotten into your car and stormed out of the bunker, tears in your eyes.

Maybe you needed time, maybe he needed time. You had loved all those nights spent with him and all the ways he made you smile. He was the only one who could rile you up and make you laugh at the same time. He knew every one of your buttons. He was a charmer, Dean Winchester.

Cold water ran from the sink and you didn’t really care about the temperature. Cupping your hands you splashed it against your face, hoping to be stirred awake by the sensation. But nothing happened. You were numb. A part of you had expected the sensation but it was so hard to describe. Tears had followed for so long it had felt natural. This was one of the first days you had woken without crying. You’d hoped for relief but instead you felt empty.

Dressed and ready, you found your way to the phone, picking it up and eyeing it for any missed calls. There were none. No text messages, no calls, no voicemails. You had wanted so badly for there to be a sign that he had called or that he cared, but nothing. Had it been weeks?

Rubbing your thumb against the side of the phone you stared at his name in your contacts. Were you ready to call him? Had it been only days? You pressed the phone icon and lifted it to your ear, closing your eyes as you listened to it ring. Hope danced in your chest and it was an emotion you didn’t want. Hope was dashed. Hope was destroyed. Losing something else would only give you more pain.

It rang four… five times before finally going to voicemail, a sigh escaping your lips as you listened to his voice, “Hey, it’s Dean, you know what to do.” The beep that signaled it was your time to speak came on and you hesitated.

“Dean, it’s Y/N. Listen, I just wanted to call and say hello. I wanted to say I’m sorry for how I left things. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’ve just been so stressed out lately I… shit. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make excuses or talk about me. I wanted to say I’m sorry, and that I love you, and I hope you can call me at some point.”

You hung up and stared at the phone. It flickered slightly and you sighed. Everything around you broke, didn’t it? Turning off the phone you tucked it away, sitting on the side of the bed. Maybe tonight you’d go to Dean’s favorite bar, hope he was there and find him to talk to him. You wouldn’t go to the bunker or wait forever, but maybe he’d come by. Had it been months now? You couldn’t think. Everything felt foggy.

Standing was an effort. All you could remember was your fight. It replayed in slow motion in your mind as you thought about all those things you’d said. You wanted to go back and take those words back. Even if you’d just left before the fight, taken time to yourself at the motel, maybe it would have ended differently. Maybe you’d have felt better after. Even leaving on amicable terms would have been preferable.

You began to cry again as you remembered. You remembered those kisses he’d plant on you when you came back after a hunt. Those little feather kisses along your neck and jawline. The way he’d catch your eyes across the table and wink at you for no reason. He’d been so perfect. So wonderful. But it had ached when he was gone without a word. He’d insist on being on those hunts alone or with Sam and had asked you to stay behind. You had been fine at first but the loneliness had been too much. It felt like your heart was breaking each time he left.

When the tears had passed you laid back down. Your energy felt depleted already and moving was so hard. You weren’t hungry but you were tired. Closing your eyes you waited for sleep, that fickle mistress, to show back up and sweep you away. She did, with her grace forgiving to your plight. And soon, you were resting.

But your sleep wasn’t deep. Even waking hours later (was it hours?) you felt tired and restless at the same time. By now the world had darkened and you had thought to yourself how good it would be to see Dean. It had been so long. It felt like forever. The walk down to the bar would be cold this time of year but maybe the chill would work to wake you up.

Wrapping a black sweater around yourself you exited the motel, the sharpness of the air hitting you. But it was stale. Everything felt stale. Your feet seemed to drag against the cement and pavement as you made your way down the road. What would you even say to him? Sorry for breaking your heart? Sorry for leaving? Sorry for ruining the one good thing you ever had? How many calls had you left him at this point? Your memory was betraying you and you couldn’t quite recall but you knew today’s was not the first.

People on the street seemed to sense your pain, watching as others would walk out of the way or move aside. But no one made eye contact. No one touched you. You wondered what would happen if they did. Touch seemed so foreign and you questioned again how long it had been since you spoke. Your tears had felt unstoppable for so long.

The bar’s artificial lights on the outside felt sharp as you approached, looking up at the establishment Dean had frequented. You remembered those times he had taken you here at first, those times when you just needed a beer and a friend and he had provided both. He’d listen as you unloaded to him and never tried to fix anything. He’s shake common sense back into you from time-to-time, but that was the extent.

Your feet felt like lead now as you stood. Inside you could make out bodies and faces, people smiling and laughing. You resented them. Their happiness felt so hateful and you wanted it gone. Taking in a sharp breath you opened the door and looked inside, not quite shutting it as you spotted Dean at the bar. He was unmistakable with his leather jacket and styled hair. A smirk played on his lips as he swirled his scotch around the cheap bar glass. He was talking to the bartender, a gorgeous brunette who was just his type.

Pain flooded inside you at once and you had wished it was something more real, something like a knife. Then you might have been able to stop it. Instead he was smiling and laughing with her, leaning in the way he did when he wanted to be flirty. It’s what he had done with you. And when you watched him scrawl something onto a bar napkin, you felt obliterated. No tears fell but you instead opened the door and stormed out, feeling it slam sharply behind you.

A part of you expected to see him chasing after you but you didn’t want to talk. He was over you already, wasn’t he? Already on to the next chase. The next woman. Had he listened to your voicemail? Did he know what you had said? A scream threatened to leave your lips but instead you hurried back to the motel room. Inside, you covered yourself under your blankets and shut your eyes, commanding sleep to come. You prayed that maybe this time it would.  
_______

“Dude, you can’t do this forever you know.” Sam was looking at his brother from across the table, watching as Dean stared down at the phone. He was staring, and Sam knew he was staring at your picture, the picture he refused to delete. The last picture he had left on his phone of you.

“She called again.” He stared down at the phone and Sam inhaled sharply.

“Are you sure?” Dean nodded his head. Even though your number came up as ‘BLOCKED’ he knew it was you. It was always you. Your voicemails were always the same. Always destroying him all over again.

“It’s her. I can’t… I don’t know what to do.” Tears burned at his eyes and Dean worked to fight them off. He had spent so much time after you left blaming himself that he didn’t think for a second it was anyone else’s fault. Maybe it was no one’s.

“You do. You have to talk to her. You’ve gotta talk to Y/N. Just tell her it’s over.” Dean shook his head as his brother spoke.

“Easier said than done.” He clicked the phone off and put it down, face down, onto the table so he wouldn’t keep staring at your picture. Not a single day went by, not a single second went by that he didn’t think of you. He thought about how different it would be if he had reached out and grabbed your arm, convinced you to stay. Maybe you wouldn’t have stayed at the motel and maybe you’d still be next to him now.

“Then I’ll come with you. I know you, Dean, and you’re not going to get passed this unless you see her. You have to.” Sam had closed his laptop by now. Seeing his brother in this much pain was never easy. Sam had kept him from going to Crowley and had stopped him from going off his rocker when you left, and now this. He tried to pretend he was fine and would more often than not go to the bar to get numbers, but he’d never return the calls.

The brothers rose with a sense of purpose, Dean rubbing his face and wishing he could bring a bottle of Jack with him. But it’d make it that much harder. Drinking might dull the pain temporarily but in the end it would always come back. Pain had a way of doing that. It was devious.

Sam had offered to drive the Impala over and Dean had allowed it. He knew he’d chicken out anyway. He wouldn’t be able to say it to you if he got there, he knew, not without Sam. He’d see you and he’d break down. He wouldn’t be able to tell you everything. His stomach felt like there was a pit inside and all he wanted to do was run.

When Sam finally did pull up to where you were, Dean had turned white, “I don’t know if I can.” He shook his head, Sam turning to face him.

“You have to. The calls, visiting you at the bar… it won’t stop until you tell her.” The tears were actually falling now. He’d worked hard to put off crying for as long as he could. He knew once it started he’d have trouble stopping. He guessed that’s what Sam was for.

Opening the door of the Impala slowly, his boots hit the grass. The day was slowly passing into night and he pushed open the gate of the cemetery, making his way towards the grave marker he’d set up. The one housing your ashes.

He remembered the night you left. He even had the voicemail still from when you were driving down the road,  
 _Dean, it’s Y/N. Listen, I just wanted to call and say hello. I wanted to say I’m sorry for how I left things. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’ve just been so stressed out lately I… shit. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make excuses or talk about me. I wanted to say I’m sorry, and that I love you, and I hope you can call me at some point._

The police found your car destroyed somewhere off of the road leading from the bunker to the motel in town. The report had guessed that you had somehow lost control of the car and veered off the road at a high speed, hitting one of the larger trees. You’d died on impact. No pain, the police officer had told Dean. A goddamn car accident. Living with two notorious hunters and it was a goddamn car accident that did you in.

He knew you’d been crying, because the voicemail had been teary. He knew you’d lost control because you’d been sobbing. He felt responsible. If he’d listened, if he’d made you stay, he wouldn’t be standing at your grave now. The calls he’d gotten in the weeks and months after had always been from a blocked number, always with a voicemail of static. He had a feeling it was you, but until the night in the bar when he’d gotten chills, one of the many nights where he’d tried to forget, and the door had slammed shut out of nowhere, he knew for sure. When he’d turned to look at the door, he’d seen his breath and known. He’d known and he’d mourned.

They’d salted and burned your bones but you’d lingered. Further investigation had told them that sometimes, when a person held too hard to a memory, that memory was what kept a ghost around. He couldn’t stop blaming himself. Couldn’t stop himself from letting you go. He didn’t want you gone. Somewhere deep inside he felt having the voicemails was almost reassuring. It meant you couldn’t let go, too.

“It’s OK, Dean.” Sam spoke as Dean stood by the simple marker. Your name was carved in the granite, the date of your birth and the date of your death, a date about six months ago. Dean focused himself, gripping his fists tightly.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you more, or that I didn’t get a chance to spend more time with you. I’m sorry I pushed you away and I’m sorry that I kept you here. You deserve so much better than me. Always did.” He began to cry more fully, taking out his phone and opening up to your picture. He had to do it. He didn’t like the idea of erasing you, but you’d always be there. Sam had put up the picture of the three of you in the living room of the bunker, a constant reminder of family. He’d put it by the one with Jo, Ellen, and Bobby. He didn’t want to forget you, but he couldn’t keep you here.

With more strength than he thought he had, he hit delete, watching as your face vanished from the screen. Tears continued to fall but he was ready now, “Forgive me. I love you.”

Back in the motel room, you felt the relief wash over you at once. The tiredness you had felt was a real sort of exhaustion now, but it wasn’t heavy. As you lay under the blankets you felt good. You knew somewhere that the sleep you were falling into was going to be restful and you’d finally get a chance to doze. And somewhere, deep inside, you felt a release you didn’t know you had needed.

And soon after you were asleep, a real sleep, a sleep that would finally be restful. A smile danced on your lips as you felt yourself get light. Everything would be OK.


	12. I'm Not Crying, You're Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

“Dean, you’re acting weird.” You eyed the man across the table from you, both of you cleaning out the weaponry. Sam and Cas had gone to do some research and the two of you had been tasked to clean out the firearms and ensure the blades on your weapons weren’t rusted. The pairing made sense, given how long you and Dean had been together now. Two years today, actually.

“I’m not acting weird you’re acting weird.” He retorted with a sort of derision you didn’t expect. He didn’t even look at you when you said it. Mostly he just continued to clean his glock like it was going to go out of style soon.

“Ok… well… in that case… anything new going on?” You’d hoped Dean would remember your anniversary. History dictated that he was not so great at good anniversaries as he’d forgotten last year’s. It’d ended with him buying you a new machete to make up for it which he had engraved with your name. He felt bad. And you didn’t want to be “that girl” who expected Dean to remember or got mad if he didn’t. But you couldn’t deny that it sort of hurt.

“No, should there be?” Again, not looking at you. OK, he was acting really strange. You took out the flask of holy water (which he didn’t seem to notice) and splashed some on him. He looked surprised more than anything, which made you laugh.

“What the hell, Y/N?!” You bit your lip since he actually did look upset, but you put down the silver rounds you were loading.

“I wanted to be sure it was you. You’re acting really weird, Short Bus.” Dean had told you what Ruby had called him years ago, and you’d been so amused it had sort of stuck around as your playful name for him. Sam never understood and Dean couldn’t find a skillful way to tell him ‘it’s a nickname your ex girlfriend demon gave me’. Maybe there wasn’t actually a skillful way to say it.

“You didn’t have to spray me with holy water.” He huffed a little and you slumped, staring at him across the table.

“Dean, seriously, what’s the matter? You’ve been acting like I shot your non-existent dog all day. First it wasn’t talking to me at breakfast, then you said you weren’t in the mood for pie, and now you’re not even looking at me.” He continued his own tasks as you spoke, moving on to polishing some of the blades before him. There were three angel blades and a demon blade, wondering for a minute why you even kept the demon blade since angel blades seemed to sprout up like weeds.

“Look, it’s nothing, can we drop it? I’m not big on the whole touchy-feely, you know that.” He used his deep, grizzled voice that you knew so well that meant he was either nervous or upset. Or both. It concerned you but you sighed, sitting back up and reaching for one of the blades.

It looked for a minute like you were going to let it go. There you sat, polishing like a good little worker bee, humming slightly before perking up, “Maybe I’ll carve my name into Baby.” You said it without looking up and as though you were contemplating what to have for dinner.

When Dean slammed his blade down you didn’t even flinch, “Fine! I’m just stressed out. Turns out that Baby has an oil leak.”

Your heart just about sank. Part of you had hoped his mood was that he was planning something big for your anniversary, or even that something important was going on (hell, maybe Sam had a goddamn brain tumor) but nothing. Baby had an oil leak. What did he care? He worked on that thing more than a normal human being should and an oil leak would be far from stressful.

Hurt, you continued to polish the blade, slowly this time. Dean almost didn’t seem to notice as you huffed slightly. You were totally being ‘that girl’ but you didn’t care. You’d saved Dean from a friggen werewolf (that was how you met), helped him take down two witches, worked to exorcise who knows how many demons, and hunted alongside him the whole time. When the two of you began dating you knew it wouldn’t be normal. Dates consisted of diner food after a hunt or drives in Baby early in the morning before the sun came up. He was not a normal man, but you were not a normal woman.

Your last anniversary, the one he missed, you had told him he needed it engraved into his thick skull. Sam had scolded him too (which made you feel a little better) and told him he’d never find someone like you again. He knew that. He’d spent his days finding little ways to make you happy since then. He’d always bring you back a shot glass from whatever state he was in if you two were away and you’d buy a pint glass. It was cute. It was yours.

Now you were sitting and cleaning a blade that had probably taken down a slew of creatures in its day. Dean glanced up at you across the silent table, “Check the .40 Smith and Wesson. It’s still go regular bullets it needs silver.” He nodded to you with his stoic face and you almost punched him. You wanted to.

“You do it.” Sure it was a childish response but you were angry. You thought you’d earned the right to be a little childish today. On the day Dean Winchester forgot your friggen two-year anniversary. He sure as shit wouldn’t forget a third (if he made it that long).

“Y/N, just do it. Please?” He lilted his voice up a little bit and almost smirked. You couldn’t say no to that. It was his go-to puppy-dog face. God, that man was so lucky you loved him.

“Fine.” You grumbled a bit and took the gun, grabbing the silver bullets to your left. You’d been loading a magazine from a different gun earlier and had the same caliber still.

Popping the magazine out, you carefully held it and placed the cartridge on the table on its side. It was surprising, then, when you heard a soft ‘tinkle’ from inside. Dean’s movements had stopped and he was staring at you now, intently. You didn’t know it.   
There was no way to know how wide his eyes were or how fast his heart was beating. He was running through a thousand scenarios.

Picking up the cartridge you emptied it into your hand, watching as a small ring came tumbling out. It was silver with a simple diamond in it, nothing fancy. Your eyes widened as you held it in your hands, looking up as Dean walked over. He took your silence as a go-ahead, taking to one knee before you. He held the ring out, “Silver, because that’s how we met, remember? You killed the werewolf. I dug out one of the bullets and kept it ever since. And I had it melted down, adding some Phoenix ash, what was left, since we used some to take down those witches a while back.”

It was so stupidly sweet. You started crying, unable to contain yourself, and he held the ring before you, “Y/N, will you marry me?”

You hit his arm a bit, still crying, “You big jerk, I thought you forgot our anniversary!” He snorted a little and shook his head at you.

“So that’s a yes?” You nodded your head in the affirmative, surprised to see him blushing as he put the ring on you. It was so perfect. He’d remembered those hunts with you, and that you had expected him to forget the anniversary. He’d kept it so quiet. “Do you need a tissue? You’re crying, princess.”

You hit him again and he laughed as you spoke, “I’m not crying you’re crying.” He lifted you and wrapped you into a big bear hug, your arms clinging to him as you held tight.

“I love you, Dean.”

“Love you too, Y/N. Future Mrs. Dean Winchester.” You felt his smirk, even through the hug


	13. Couldn't Tear Me From You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

“I wanna sleep.” You mewled the words out at Dean, practically curled up in the front seat on the Impala. Your clothes were dirty and you felt like death. Or rather, pestilence. Was that the gross one? You forgot.

“Look, it’s right here and I’m already in the parking lot. We’re getting breakfast. C’mon, sweetheart.” He was smiling over at you, his own clothes a bit worse for the wear. Thankfully you’d both been able to avoid blood splatter, but you looked like you’d come back from a football game where they didn’t believe in protective gear.

You grumbled some kind of response, though did feel rather peckish. He was pulling into a parking space, which wasn’t a difficult thing to find given it was four in the morning. There were a few trucks parked in the spots on the outskirts and one or two cars. Beyond that, however, the diner was yours.

“Think of it like a date. For me, Y/N?” He said your name and a smile practically fell onto your face. You’d been together now only a few months and he liked the idea of courting you. Dean had never gotten a chance to really sweep a woman off her feet. The chase was great but with you it had been about something more. Something fulfilling. He was happy to spend time with you and hunt with you. You filled a piece of him.

And he liked to treat you. John Winchester may not have been much in the way of a doting father, but he did teach his boys how to treat a woman. Dean understood that you were special. From the moment he laid his eyes on you he’d known. Every chance he got to tell you what you meant to him he took it. Even now, when you knew he was even more sore and tired than you were, he wanted to take you into a diner. Not bone you in the back of his car, but take you on a date.

“Anything for you.” You smiled and the words appeared to tickle at Dean’s lips, tugging a grin onto them.

You were working on getting yourself at least mildly together as Dean exited the car. The Impala squeaked, a worn squeak that Dean would never willingly oil because he liked knowing that Baby was talking to him. As you were adjusting the shirt that looked like it’d seen better days you felt the door open. Dean stood, smiling down at you, “M’lady…” He extended his hand in a sweeping motion and you grinned widely at him.

“Why thank you, Mr. Winchester.” You took his hand as he offered it and helped you out of the Impala, the one you felt you knew better than any other car at this point.

As you walked towards the door you were a bit surprised as Dean took your hand, interlocking his fingers through your own. He was wordless as you looked over, a smile on your face and matching one on his own. His hands were worn in the way that hunters hands would be worn, but they were warm and comforting. They were hands that had cupped your cheek and rested simple kisses on you, hands that had gripped at your hips both in lust and in unspoken moments. They were hands you had begun to know as well as the Impala. They were safe. Dean was safe.

The two of you seemed to stroll inside and it felt too soon that his hand had let go of yours. He hadn’t stopped being a gentleman, though. You were a bit surprised to feel your zip-up hoodie being removed from your form by Dean who was smiling behind you. Wordless, still, you felt yourself blushing as the waitress came over.

“You two look like you could use a rest. Long day?” Dean stepped by your side, arm around your waist in a way that made you feel like you were in high school all over again.

“You could say that.” He winked knowingly at you and the waitress smiled, grabbing two menus and putting the two of you in a seat by the window.

“Two of you are right on time. That sunrise always gets me. Can’t beat ‘em out here.” She smiled and the two of you slid into the booth. Dean hung your hoodie up by the chair and you again felt a flush cross your cheeks.

“So, breakfast and a show. That’s like… two dates, at least. I think that at least lands me first base.” You laughed, warmly, shaking your head at the man grinning at you across the table. But he wasn’t just grinning. The man was looking at you like you were the only woman in the universe. Women had thrown themselves at him, before you and after. But they were never you. Never with your perfect curves or an ass that he adored. Never with your gorgeous eyes and skin he loved to taste. No one ever came close to you.

The silence that drifted between the two of you was comfortable. It was a silence you felt safe in, even as the waitress brought the coffee over. You felt eager to consume it, happy when she filled your mug. Dean’s eyes were still on you with his soft smile and you blushed again, “What?” He took a sip of his coffee without adding anything in.

“I just like looking at you. She says that sunrise is beautiful but I’ve seen better.” You wanted to tell him to shut up and stop being so sweet, but it was nice. It was a rare moment that you got to see Dean Winchester being something other than the hardass he put on to the world. In this diner where it felt like it was just the two of you sipping coffee early in the morning you were seeing Dean Winchester.

Ordering food felt good. Of course, Dean loaded up on pancakes and bacon, you stuck with eggs, hashbrowns, and bacon as well. You knew Dean would peck at your hashbrowns and Dean knew you’d peck at his pancakes. It was symbiotic.

“Oh!” You smiled as you looked to the side, spotting a machine that let you pick songs on the jukebox from your table, “Give me a quarter! I want to pick one.” Dean grinned widely, reaching into his jeans and withdrawing a quarter that looked about as ragged as he did right now. Winking at him playfully, you flipped through the songs. You’d thought about a ballad, but that seemed too cheesy. No, something fun. Something good.

Slipping the quarter in, you selected your song and waited, “So what song did you pick?” You bit your lip and leaned in.

“I can’t tell you. But you’ll know.” He laughed a little and took another sip of coffee, you leaning back against the booth and doing the same. It felt simple. It felt right. Even with the feeling of a blade tucked against your calf under your jeans and even with the dirt from the hunt, even with sleep teasing you with desire, you felt good.

So when “Heat of the Moment” came on and Dean’s eyes lit up you couldn’t help but laugh. He almost jumped up, “It’s my jam!” He’d picked up that phrase from you, hearing you use it almost regularly. He’d teased you that just about everything was ‘your jam’.

However you were surprised as he got to his feet, “C’mon! You have to dance with me.” Laughter spilled from your lips and Dean thought to himself that there was nothing more that he wanted to hear in this world. Your laughter would put the angels to shame. Your smile would eclipse the sunrise. He knew all these things in the same way that he knew he’d never let someone like you go.

“Fine!” The waitresses working had paused to smile and watch, a few of the truckers at the countertop even smiling as they turned. But none of them existed. As you and Dean danced and rocked out to Asia, the world had suddenly washed away. Your exhaustion felt distant and your sore body felt relaxed. It was great. Dean was rocking the air guitar and you were on drums, shaking your head in a pitiful attempt at head banging.

When the song finally ended, Dean scooped you into his arms, smiling down at you. He pushed back your hair gently, exposing more of your face to him. Your smile wouldn’t have gone away even if you wanted it to. Leaning down, he pressed his lips against yours carefully. Your entire body melted into the moment and at once you knew what peace was. You knew what happiness was. Happiness was dancing with Dean at the early morning hours in a diner. It was having breakfast and talking about nothing. It was Dean taking you on a date the best way he knew how. It was all this.

Your food arrived soon after and you’d cozied back into the booth, Dean insisting now on sitting next to you (even though you’d always made fun of people in restaurants who did that). He did, in fact, try and eat your hashbrowns. And you did, in fact, try and eat some of his pancakes. And when the sun started to rise he scooped you up against him and you peered out the window together.

Colors lined the sky in vibrant oranges, purples, reds, blues, and hues you didn’t know came with the sun. The world was coming to life and there you were in the arms of the man who loved you watching it breathe, “God himself couldn’t tear me from you.” And like that, you knew that this was the man you would never let go of.


	14. I Know Who You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

The ground beneath you was cold. Cold and damp. You registered it as cement against your skin. The world around you was moist and dark, not completely but certainly dim. Your body ached. You had decided to go in and attack a nest of vampires on your own. You’d taken out at least two of them before they finally jumped you. Dead man’s blood had worn off faster than you expected and they had attacked.

Now you were fading in and out of consciousness. Pain was your world. You could feel the bruises forming along your body from where they had punched and hit. Your skull felt like it was going to crack open. Pain throbbed and thrummed deep within your skull. Blood had caked on the side of your head.

Attempting to move was horrid. Your body was in agony and all you could do was whimper. Neither Winchester knew you were here, but the vampires knew who you were. They’d known you were working with the Winchesters. There was no way you were going down quickly and there was no way they’d let you off without some suffering. Suffering they’d relay to the Winchesters, certainly.

_“C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’ve got more inside you than that!” Dean almost danced around you as you squared off against him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped. He was wearing a basic black t-shirt and sweatpants, having agreed to teach you some techniques for getting away when grabbed._

_You nodded your head at him, giving him the go-ahead. You were exhausted. You’d spent hours training for the past week. After getting hit, bad, you insisted on it. Your shirt clung to you from sweat and you panted._

_He lunged at you and knocked you off your feet and onto the mat. You struggled for a moment before managing to turn your body and squirm out, jumping away._

_You ached, but it was good. It was a soreness you needed, “Atta girl! I knew you had it in you. You’re a fighter.” You had blushed, excited that he saw you that way._

_“I’ve got a good teacher.” He grinned at you, widely._

_“We’re not done yet.”_

You winced in pain as you managed to open your eyes. Even that hurt. But you could see that you were in an old building, the warehouse you had broken into. You were alone as far as you could tell. Trying to figure out if anything was broken you slowly forced yourself to wiggle your fingers and toes. It came, painfully, but it came.

Time felt stilted. You remembered being jumped, being punched and kicked and hit. No one had drained your blood but they had made sure you were incapacitated.

“Help…” Your voice left your lips, one swollen and busted, as a whisper. You didn’t know who you were calling for but you were calling. No one answered. Your whisper was barely audible to yourself. You wondered if there was anyone else to hear you.

Voices registered from what felt like far away. It was probably the next room. Whimpering softly to yourself you fought back tears. It was from pain more than anything. A part of you wanted to just resign yourself to your fate.

_“Again!” Dean yelled at you as you let off hits onto the punching bag. Alternating between elbow strikes, palm strikes, and knee strikes. Right, left, right. Left, right, left. Again!_

_“I can’t!” You panted, yelling at him as you felt your strength leaving your body, exhaustion settling in comfortably. He was holding the bag and watching you, eyes narrowed, determined._

_“You can, you will! If I’m lying there, dying on the floor, you gonna let me go like that?” Cruel question, but valid. Narrowing your eyes with resolve you went at the punching bag with a yell, slamming your palm into it once more._

Placing your palms down on the concrete you began to lift yourself. Slowly at first, and dreadfully so. But you couldn’t rush it. Rushing it would cause you to yell. Scream. Pain was your friend now and you would embrace it. Breathing heavily, you began to force yourself up.

“One Mississippi…” You breathed out the words softly and slowly, counting to keep yourself steady as you looked down, “Two Mississippi…” Your body was mostly lifted, but now came the hard part. Getting up entirely.

You had your body pushed upwards, pain swelling inside you as you remained in a sit-up position. You could see stars in your periphery, your head ringing from pain. One of them must have gotten you good.

Dragging your leg forward you pulled it underneath, planting your foot onto the ground. You used it to force your body off of the wet concrete. There was blood caked to your clothing, hair in tangles, one eye swollen heavily.

Internally you wanted to scream. The pain was overwhelming. Even if you could get up and stand, what good would it do?

_“Dean… I have to stop… I can’t…” You were doubled over on the mat in pain, holding your ribs. He’d let off hits, knowing you could take it and only because you’d asked. You had insisted Cas would heal you after. You needed to know what it was like to be in pain._

_“You can.” He knelt by you, brushing back your hair as he took a few breaths, “Know how I know?” You shook your head in the negative and he smiled, feeling badly about all the hits now, “I know because you’re a fighter. I know because when things get tough, you’re there. Know how many people would come back from an attack like that and train harder? Almost none.”_

_You counted your breaths like he told you to in order to combat the pain and focus on something else. He was determined to make you feel what he knew already. You were strong. Tough. Powerful. You were a hellcat if there ever was one. A force to be reckoned with._

_“You know why I’m doing this?”_

You stood, pain echoing but slowly ebbing away. Your eyes narrowed as you thought about what might happen if the Winchesters were drawn into a trap using you as bait. You felt your fists clench as you imagined Dean being taken down by a lowly nest of vampires. You felt every muscle twitch as you imagined being the downfall of the man you loved.

_“I know who you are.”_

You made slow steps to the door at the end of the room, opening it without thought or care.

_“You’re a hunter.”_

Maybe it was luck to find the machete by the door, maybe stupidity. Maybe it was something else. Your fingers wrapped around the handle of the weapon and the first creature came at you. Adrenaline pumped through your battered body and you swung, a clean swing that decapitated the vampire in one go. Another came at you from the side and you slammed your elbow into his chest, letting out a scream both of pain and focus.

It stumbled, and you took the time to swing again, removing its head clean from its body. You watched through narrowed eyes as two more came and you dealt with each just as swiftly. Each blow you let out caused more pain but you weren’t going down. No, this was a fight. This was a fight you’d make each vampire here remember as they went down to Purgatory. You’d make sure it was one for the record books.

_“I know who you are.”_

Your machete took swings left and right, taking only one or two more hits as you decimated what was left of the nest. You howled like a demon and fought like a warrior. There was fire burning inside you. Terror was clear on the creatures’ faces as you removed each one from the earth.

_“You’re Y/N. You’re powerful. You’re the nightmares these monsters have at night.”_

A final scream left your throat as you cut down your blade again, killing the final vampire. Its head lolled on the floor, leaving you standing, free hand holding to your ribcage where there were at least two broken ribs. Breathing hurt. Living hurt. But you were standing still.

_“I know who you are.”_

You walked to where one of the vampires lay dead and reached into its pocket, withdrawing a cellphone. Getting it to the on screen, you dialed Dean’s number, focusing on his green eyes. His scruff, his taste, his smell. Everything except the pain.

Holding the phone to your face you listened to it ring, “Dean? Yeah. It’s me. No, I’m- Dean, please just- Dean! Ah, fuck… I’m fine. Just… send Cas to get me?” You dropped the phone to the ground, feeling it tumble and break as it hit the concrete. You knew what that felt like.

_“You’re one of the only people alive I’d trust with my life. You’re everything.”_

You waited for Cas, holding your ribs. All that training, all that stress. You had never imagined you’d be standing here, world swimming around you as you took a deep breath.  
“One Mississippi… Two Mississippi…”  
 _I know who you are, Dean Winchester. You’re the man that saved my life._


	15. Hospital Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader (Based on Florence and the Machine's version of 'Hospital Beds')

You weren’t sure how long you’d been in the hospital at this point. Hours bled into days, days into weeks, and here you were with no change in your status except for fewer bouts of consciousness. You’d heard the doctors moving in and out of your room, muttering to one another about how things just ‘don’t look good’ and how you were ‘fighting’.

When your roommate came in, you’d heard the conversations in one of your brief waking moments. The morphine was running low so the pain had pushed you awake. Voices were hard to make out but you gathered he was here after some kind of animal attack. No identification on him, no phone. But the prognosis was good. You were happy for this stranger. His prognosis said that he’d be conscious regularly now and soon he’d be back on his feet.

Good for him. Your own prognosis? Not that good. Doctors gave you a few days, if that. Your wounds were too extensive after the car accident and they guessed there wouldn’t be a donor in time. Even if there was, you weren’t a great candidate in the shape you were in.

One of the nurses had come by to check your vitals on the clipboard by your bed. No family to speak of, no friends to inform. You guessed work had simply assumed you quit. Not that you cared.

When she checked your neighbor’s you heard him speak, “Hey, sweetheart. Told me I had a roommate. Didn’t tell me how hot she was.” You wanted to smile, though the muscles wouldn’t work. Instead you attempted to speak.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Your voice was raspy from sleep and medications. It felt dying, even to you, and you were no doctor.

“Yeah, never was any good at it. How long you here for?” You had come to terms with your own impending fate. Death couldn’t be stopped or even abated. It could be slowed down. For you it came with snarling teeth and rumbling stomach.

“Not long. Doctor says I’ve got another day or two left. Guess they were right about death and taxes, except now I won’t owe taxes.” You smiled inwardly at your own dark humor but it was noticeable how the room became silent.

Silent, of course, except for the beeping of the machines. Yours were steady and slow, his own strong. You could tell. You just kind of knew.

“I’m sorry.” His voice rose with a slight crack. You felt bad, in that moment. The man didn’t choose to be sitting across from you in a hospital. No one got that choice. You were all victims of circumstance or poor life choices. In this case it was both.

“Don’t be, Dean.” You smiled this time for real. His name had been uttered while you were floating in one of your morphine trips when he had woken and given his name to the nurse. Dean Coulson. You had a feeling the last name was fake. He seemed like the type.

“Now that’s not fair. Beautiful woman knows my name and I don’t even know yours.” It was true. They were all patients. Even Dean with his handsome name was a patient. You hated it but you supposed it helped with the grief and loss these people faced.

“Y/N.” You spoke your name for the first time in… weeks? It must have been. Pain was seeping back in as you spoke but you fought it down, hearing your heart monitor increase ever so slightly, a sign that it was there.

“Y/N… I like it. What’re you gonna do when you get out, Y/N?” Hadn’t he heard you? You were dying. There was no chance at staying alive. The doctors had ruled it out and you were considered a corpse to be kept comfortable. Except that comfort only went as far as the physical body, “Just… bear with me.”

He understood. You understood.

So you closed your eyes and thought, “When I get out, I’m gonna go for a run. There’s a lake by my house I always wanted to run through. There’s always dogs, people… but in the autumn when it gets crisp, right before the sun really comes up, it’s empty. And I want to run then.” You closed your eyes as you forced the words to come out, cracked and shaking but audible.

“Sounds nice.” His smile was clear in his words. He was a kind man. You only knew he was attacked by an animal but he seemed good. No way of knowing.

“It is. It’s by Higgins Lane. Formal name is Spry Lake but we all call it the Doggy Pond since people let their dogs run through.” You smiled. But the smile made you realize the pain that danced through your broken bones, your bruised skin, your damaged body. The heart monitor increased and as if on cue, a nurse entered. She was older, forty maybe, and looked beat. As your eyes opened you could see she was irate.

“I don’t mean to bother you but… could you increase the morphine? The pain is… it’s bad.” The woman checked your bag and frowned, shaking her head.

“Sorry. No can do. You’re already on a pretty high dose.” A groan of pain escaped, but not by choice. You would have kept quiet were it up to you.

“Just give her the morphine! Jesus Christ, are you heartless? She’s dying!” Dean’s voice raised, but loud enough to be noticed. The woman looked injured herself in that moment but more so that she seemed to not have realized you were even dying. Why should she care?

Wordlessly she adjusted a few things and you felt the sweeping relief of morphine traveling through your body. It was bliss. You didn’t have much time before you fell back asleep.

The nurse scurried out and you spoke, “Thanks for that.” He nodded, not that you could see, and watched you. He kept watching you as you fell into that blissful, calming sleep. The sleep you always prayed for now.  
___

When you woke, hours later, you heard humming across the room. Your sleep had been good. The pain was kept away now but you had some time. Time until what?

“Hm… what are you humming?” You spoke up and Dean perked. He was sitting up fully now, drumming his fingers against the blankets. He’d kept the TV off, worried it might wake you up, not realizing there was little that actually would.

“Kansas. Good tune. You know ‘Carry On My Wayard Son’? It’s catchy.” He smiled and you nodded your head yes with the strength you had. He could see it.

“So what are you gonna do when you get out?” His was more realistic. You knew that. And you wanted to know. You wanted to be somewhere other than here. Other than this hospital bed with Dean.

And he knew that.

“Well, I’m gonna get in my Impala. It’s a ‘67 black Chevy Impala, my Baby. And she runs like a dream. Purrs when you turn her on, leather inside. Looks exactly like the day she came off the lot, but better. And I’m gonna get some greasy fastfood inside me and drive. There’s a long stretch of highway out here. I like driving at night, when it’s quiet. I keep the car coasting and roll down the windows no matter how cold it is. Nothin’ around but land and stars and the road. And I’m gonna drive.”

You had closed your eyes as he described it to you, imagining yourself there next to him. He had a smile on his face, a face you had to imagine because you couldn’t see him, and he was driving. He had one hand on the steering wheel, another holding yours. It was dark, freezing now, but good. It was good.

“Would you turn the radio on?” Your voice felt far way, but that made sense. You were inside the car with Dean and he was driving, coasting down the empty highway. He was driving you to places you’d never seen. He’d see them with you.

“Course. But I usually sing along. You OK with that?” You smiled.

“Can you sing Kansas again?” Your voice was almost gone. He heard it though, just as the monitors began to slow.

“Carry on my wayward son… there’ll be peace when you are done… lay your weary head to rest… don’t you cry no more…”

And with that, Dean Winchester watched you slip away down the highway, driving in his Impala.  
__

Sam had asked why he wanted to stop here. After all, the hunt was over, who cared about a lake? But Dean did. He couldn’t tell him. There was no way to explain it. It had been two weeks now and while he had healed and moved forward, you had driven off.

And you had been right. He stood at the lake and looked out. The sun wasn’t quite up yet in the sky but the world was beginning to glow in anticipation. The air was crisp and cold but it felt good. He tucked his hands deep into his pockets, green eyes staring out at the water. He wondered which home had been yours, which door you would have been walking out of. He wondered if you’d be wearing sweatpants or yoga pants.

He pictured it. Closing his eyes he watched as you exited the home on his left, hoodie zipped up and yoga pants on. No music. You wanted to hear the world. And so he opened his eyes and watched you run, watched your breath leave your lips is wisps and puffs. He watched as you smiled, soaking in the day that hadn’t yet begun.

“Now your life’s no longer empty… surely heaven waits for you…”


	16. Idle Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader (With a very unfortunate Sam...)

The winter was never a problem for you. As cold as things got and as frigid as it was, you didn’t mind being bundled up and shooting away at shit in the woods. There was something incredibly peaceful. Alaska was no different. The three of you had been called, unsure what was waiting, and had found that it was a banshee. While Castiel had reported over the phone that banshees were typically harmless spirits, formerly angels, this one was using its abilities to target and revenge itself upon families.

“How do I kill it, Cas?” You’d ask before he could even finish. A frozen pane of glass from a church window through its heart.

The hunt had taken you into the woods, finding a cabin where the family member who had controlled the banshee was staying. After kicking him out you’d personally cornered the thing on the lake.

“Nothing personal, sister. Some things just gotta die.” And with that you’d thrust the blade into the screaming creature. The term ‘howling like a banshee’ never made more sense than in that moment. You’d managed to get far enough onto the ice that the trap Sam and Dean had set up held her still. After plunging the knife and her scream you knelt and covered your ears, waiting for it to die down.

And it did. Wincing, you slowly got to your feet, Sam and Dean already on their way towards you, only about ten feet or so out.

You smiled with your red nose, breathing a bit labored from the cold, “Betcha didn’t think-” there was a sudden crack, your face changing as you eyed them, “Oh… shit-” And with that, the world beneath you shattered, literally.

The ice fell apart, giving way into the dark abyss of bold below you. There was no way to have braced for the impact of the paralyzing, icy world below. Shock was what traveled through you first, somewhere in your mind you registered being glad that the boys were close enough to get you. But they had to be careful with the damage now to the ice.

Everything was a haze. A wintry haze. Your body felt like pure lead as it was pulled from the water, Sam forced to heave you into his arms. Dean had managed to obtain a sizable cut across his chest he was still recovering from.

“Pull off her boots!” The boys knew, thankfully, exactly what to do. As they hurried off the ice and then ran with you in Sam’s arms, they went to work removing your frozen, soaking clothing.

Everything was cold. There was a horrible drilling sound in your head, wondering at first if there was another creature. Soon, however, you understood that it was your own teeth chattering away. You couldn’t feel your hands or feet, and what you could feel was a mixture of freezing and burning. Horrendous.

Bursting through the cabin, Sam commanded Dean to put wood onto the fire. They had to warm you up. In the moment it was just the boys working. Your hair had frozen to your hair, cracking and snapping like ice as it was moved aside and your coat was taken off. All you could do was shiver, violently, and pray that maybe you wouldn’t be this cold forever.

Pain was easy because it was focused. Cold, however, was not so much. Cold was horrific. Cold was a desperate need to be rid of it, no matter the cost. This kind of cold you could feel inside your bones. You were equipped to deal with much in this world but not with this.

Frenzied moves went on around you, not aware you were down to just your bra and panties until you felt the large blanket wrapped around you. But it wasn’t enough.

“Dean, you gotta let me do this!”

 

“It should be me! She’s my friggen girlfriend!”

“We don’t have time for this, do you want her to freeze to death or not?” What the fuck were they going on about. You vaguely registered the argument as you sat in front of the now-roaring fire, shivering and shuddering and clattering your teeth. The heat felt like small puffs of air as you tried to get as close as you could without burning yourself.

No dice.

Nothing was working. Not until… what? You looked up as you heard a rustling of clothing, watching as Sam had disrobed to just about nothing as well. Were you of sound mind and body you would have thrown something at him and told him to fuck off, but you understood what was happening. Dean was too busted up to be able to hold you tightly and warm you up, and Sam was large as it was. He’d supply more of the heat you needed.

“Nnnn-” Your teeth chattered as you tried to say ‘no’, looking up to see Dean’s wounded face as he watched his brother pull the blanket open and slide against you.

It was heavenly. His body, warm and large as it was, felt immediately like a cocoon. He wrapped his arms around you, his embrace tight and needful, pulling your skin against his own bare skin. His hands were careful as he rubbed gently against your skin, keeping the blanket back up. Your eyes closed. Warm. He was warm. It felt like you were devouring his heat and that was fine by you.

Not fine, however, by Dean.

Glancing over at the couch you watched as Dean stared, mostly at Sam, as he held you, “Better keep those hands from wandering, bitch.” Sam looked over with a sort of annoyed frustration he had gotten used to by now.

“My hands weren’t planning on wandering, jerk.” You pressed yourself harder against Sam, the heat feeling almost immediately revitalizing. It was not unnoticed by your boyfriend, still feet away, grumbling a bit under his breath.

“So… cold…” You whimpered. That seemed to change Dean’s attitude immediately. He got closer to where you were and touched your face.

“You ok there, sweetheart? Not a great time of year to be swimming.” You wanted to smile but still the cold was overwhelming. Instead you nodded and burrowed your face against Sam’s neck. Dean would feel a pang of jealousy, but Sam felt only discomfort.

“Dude, before you even say anything, trust me when I tell you this is isn’t that great for me either. I am literally holding an ice cube. This is the least romantic thing I’ve ever done without my clothes on, and I’m counting that time I got pantsed in second-grade.” Dean gave his younger brother a look that said he was safe. For now.

And meanwhile there you were grasping for warmth. The dangerous part was over now. Any chance of losing extremities was gone but it was important to keep you warm. Dean did what he could to fuel the fire that warmed the cabin. He covered up windows and doors, making sure the heat couldn’t escape. It needed to be hot, more than anything.

Even as your shudders slowly lessened, Dean was still eyeing you, “You OK, Y/N?” He pushed aside damp hair, though it was hair that was no longer frozen.

You nodded, “B-b-better.” He smiled and leaned in, kissing your nose.

“Dude, seriously?” Sam looked at his brother who was close enough to be kissing him, Dean looking irate.

“Shut up, it’s my girlfriend, OK?” You smiled as he said that, Dean going back to ensuring the safety of the cabin and of you. He’d gone ahead and laid out your clothing, trying to get it dried. Hell, he’d even gone into his own bag and gotten out some clothes to wear in lieu of yours. He wanted you to be ok.

About an hour went by, Dean had nodded off briefly, the anxiety and frustration tiring him out, and you snuggled against Sam’s bare chest, face opposite from the tattoo. You were warming up now, and soon you could be put in real clothes. Sam had been dozing a bit as well, inadvertently rubbing your back under the blanket. Your skin was soft, and as he dozed he thought how nice it felt. Holding someone. Being with them. Their skin.

That was about the time you woke up. Your eyes were wide as you felt it. Staring at Sam. He felt it too. He was crimson.

“Sam…” Your voice was low, a whisper, being sure not to wake up Dean.

“I… it wasn’t on purpose. You’re warm. Soft…”

“Eugh, Sam… no!” You whispered the words at him with a bit of scolding and Sam rolled his eyes.

“What do you want me to do!” You looked irate, glancing at Dean to make sure he was still sleeping. Dean would very likely murder Sam.

“I don’t know! Think about baseball!” Sam looked mildly offended that you had gone to that used trope of baseball.

“I don’t even like baseball!”

“That’s the whole fucking point, assbag!” Your voice rose and Dean woke, looking over.

“Why are you arguing about baseball?” Sam’s eyes widened both in mortal terror and general anxiety. His boner, still very attentive, was suddenly not so much as fear filled him.

“Because your brother is an idiot!” You glared at him and he rolled his eyes.

“Thank you. Next time you’re freezing to death I’ll remember this conversation.” You grumbled and reached up with significantly warmer hands.

“Grabby hands. Gimme.” You reached up and Dean smiled, making his way to the clothing. He grabbed a black shirt of his and one of the heavier flannel shirts, tossing them to you. Getting up, you let the blanket drop momentarily, cold but not freezing. That had passed.

Sam closed his eyes tightly, Dean feeling better that his brother wasn’t trying to catch a peek or anything.

Dressing took almost no time, though you felt comical in your oversized clothing and even socks. At least you were warm. And at least Sam was dressed now too.

“So you gonna tell me why you and Sammy were arguing about baseball yet?” You considered the fact that he might murder Sam.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

He grinned, “Fine. But can we talk about ‘assbag’ as an insult?” You held up your head indignantly.

“Only if you’re going to praise me, because assbag is the best insult there is.” He grinned and pushed your hair aside, kissing you warmly.

“C’Mon Elsa, let’s get going.”


	17. Do I Know You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader (And a very amusing Garth cameo...)

"Garth’s a good dude, Y/N. Helped me out back when Sam was getting married to Becky.” Dean smiled widely at the younger brother in the front seat of the Impala. Sam rolled his eyes. He’d tried very hard to forget that, so of course Dean wasn’t going to let it go. In fact, when you’d joined up with them about six months ago it was one of the first stories you heard. Mostly because Dean was trying to win you over. Also because it was funny.

“Are you always going to mention that?” Dean considered this as Sam looked over.

“Probably. Anyway! Garth helped us out a few times after. My only warning is he’s kind of… huggy.” He shuddered a bit and Sam smirked. You grinned widely from your place in the back of the Impala.

“Just your type then, huh? Touchy feely and everything.” You smiled and went to wrap your arms around him from the backseat. Dating or not, PDA’s were never his thing. He squirmed a bit.

“Hey, driving here, sister!” You smiled and Sam smiled, feeling satisfied that he’d gotten at least some kind of revenge karma.

Sitting back down you looked out the window. You’d lived in Montana for a few years before meeting up with the Winchesters. It’s where they found you. It hadn’t been home in the strict sense, but it had been *a* home. It had been enough. You were comfortable here and ready to make a life whether you wanted to or not.

“Said he moved in to some house outside of town. Looks like this is the place.” Dean pulled up in front of a nice, cozy two-story home. It was grey, gunmetal if there ever was an example of a house being gunmetal if there ever was one. The car in the driveway was a Yugo, which struck you as insane because no one drove that piece of garbage. That one even still existed shocked you.

The request to help had come from Garth who was trying to put together more information for hunters that called. He had become somewhat of a ‘Bobby’, and while helpful, he needed a guide. There were a few open cases Sam and Dean had offered to help with while Castiel manned the fort.

Stepping out into the crisp air you hugged your jacket against your form. It was dreary. The sky threatened rain though Dean insisted that was just a Montana thing. You told him you knew that already and jabbed his ribs.

“Oof, ow. Augh!” Dean dramatically clutched his side and you rolled your eyes with a smile. He grinned up at you and wrapped an arm protectively around you as he pulled you close, “Should I be worried about this newfound strength?”

You would have pushed him away but the three of you had reached the door. Dean had told Garth about your tagging along, mostly because he refused to separate from you for longer than five minutes. Also because you had a rather intense knowledge of the dark and scary yourself. It had taken years for you to realize a witch had actually cursed you with an attraction spell. But it wasn’t a nice one. No, this spell attracted supernatural creatures to you. In the worst way.

But now you stood, Dean knocking on the door. He had let go of his protective hold as his knuckles hit the wooden door.

Only seconds went by before the door opened wide, a man looking smaller than you expected but with a smile that could only be described as ‘uniquely him’ on his face, “Sam! Dean! And you must be Y/N! C’mere!” He grabbed you suddenly for a firm hug. Your eyes widened and you stumbled a bit but you caught yourself, patting his back. You were reminded of a 30 Rock episode where Jack had to hug his new boss. Now you knew that pain.

When Garth pulled away, he had an odd expression on his face, “Have we met before? I feel like we’ve met before.” Both Winchesters looked at you and you shrugged. He did seem familiar, but it wasn’t like-

Oh.

Oh fuck.

No.

Your eyes widened for the briefest moment before you regained control and composure of yourself. Neither Winchester noticed it, nor did Garth because by now he had gone on to hugging each of the brothers. No, you knew exactly where you had met this man.

He guided you into the modest home, expressing happiness at his newfound bachelor lifestyle. He kept going on about it ‘not being that bad’ and that he had ‘played the field’ a bit before deciding it was better to do his own thing. Dean had clasped his shoulder and told him it was for the best. Women were complicated. You gave Dean a look.

“So Garth, what can we help you with?” Sam sat down at the kitchen table where Garth had set up some beers and his laptop. You sat across the table from Garth, Sam and Dean on each side.

“Well, just tryin’ ta’ put together some intel, you know? Guys go callin’ me up for help, and sure like to give ‘em more than just a heads-up that it’s a werewolf!” He laughed a bit, though it was more of a ‘guffaw’ than anything else. You nodded your head and took a swig of beer, having a feeling it was going to be a long evening.

“Sounds like you’re doing a good job so far.” You nodded at Garth and that’s when it happened.

The recognition that washed over his face made you want to curl into a ball and hope that you were wrong. Hope that he hadn’t just put two and two together.

“I remember you now, Y/N! That tone, the way you drank your beer right then! Golly, we went out together to dinner a few years ago!” Sam coughed down his beer with great effort, though Dean spit his up entirely.

“Wait, what?” His voice was loud but by no means upset. Sam was trying to cough and clear his throat while Garth stared at you with nothing but a giant smile on his face. It was the same giant smile that had made you realize he was just too sweet for you. Nice as he was, the man grated on you.

“Yeah! We met in a dating app a while back! Sure did look pretty on the date! Oh, not that you don’t now, Y/N, I just remember how you had your hair all done, wearing that nice sundress.” Dean looked over at you with his amused smirk, one that you wanted to slap right off his face.

“I can’t get her to wear a dress for the life of me. Must have left quite an impression, Garth!” Dean put the beer down and smiled at Garth who shrugged.

“Aw, maybe not so much. Never got a second date.” Your face was scarlet although you weren’t sure if it was from anger or embarrassment at this point. Looking at Dean, however you were pretty sure it was anger.

“I don’t suppose you still have her profile saved or anything, do you?” Your eyes widened, strongly, as you stared at Dean.

 

“Did you not ever want to have sex again this century?” The threat was pointless but still you wanted to let him know how serious you were. He grinned and winked at you.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I bet he doesn’t even-”

“Found it! Come look!” Sam almost toppled the chair over as he got up and Dean followed suit by slamming down the beer and standing behind Garth.

Meanwhile, you had taken to putting your head down on the table, arms by your side, forehead flat against the wood, “Someone look up if you can die from embarrassment. Please. I need to know because of reasons.”

Too late. The boys were clicking and scrolling. Dean pointed, “Holy shit, Y/N that’s a hot picture. You still got that top?” He was referring, of course, to the obligatory cleavage shot you had posted. You lifted your head up only to glare before putting it back down.

“Oh no. Really? Catcher in the Rye as your favorite book? C’mon, you can do better than that!” Sam smiled at you and you gave him the finger. Maybe God would strike you dead and relieve you from this torment. Given your luck so far you doubted that would happen. Not a chance.

“You want a man who ‘has a sense of humor’ but ‘isn’t afraid to show he can feel’? Oh, and can’t forget ‘loves the outdoors’ and ‘treats a lady like a lady’.” Dean was reading it off the computer and Garth was just having a grand ol’ time. It was better, you supposed, than Dean getting jealous about you having been on a date with Garth. Maybe he understood the lack of a threat that Garth posed.  
____

The rest of the night was spent, for the most part, helping Garth get key pieces of information to help hunters he came across. When they weren’t giggling over your profile they were actually doing work. Heading to the motel they had rented, Sam bid you two goodnight as you snuck off to your own room.

“You aren’t still mad about that, are you?” You grumbled a bit as Dean came up behind you and placed his hands on your hips. You’d been kicking off your boots when he buried his nose against the crook of your neck. It was hard to be mad when he did things like this.

“No… just kinda hurt… I guess.” Dean turned you gently, keeping his hands on your hips as he pushed back hair from your face. He had on a gentle smile, not his shit-eating one or his playful one, but a gentle one.

“Nothin’ to be mad about, sweetheart. Know why? Because I know what your actual favorite book is, and what your favorite thing to do on the weekends is.” He slowly moved his arms around you more, pulling you close to him as he whispered, “I know what movie you put on when you’re sad, or what food you eat when you’re craving sweets or something salty instead. I know how beautiful you look coming out of the shower or dressed for a party. I already know everything.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and he seemed to be slow dancing, making you smile a bit, “Dean Winchester… are you trying to woo me?” He grinned and chuckled a little into your neck, his scruff tickling as he did so.

“Well, you did threaten to hold out on me for the next century… gotta get back in your good graces somehow.” You smiled and pressed yourself against him, warmly.

“I guess you do know some things that aren’t on my profile.” He smirked a bit and continued to hold you, “So maybe I can break the century rule.” He laughed and continued to just hold you. Because he knew you loved it. Because he knew every way to touch your body that made you smile. And because Dean Winchester didn’t need a dating website to know just how much he loved you.


	18. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

“C’mon, Y/N! Serious, how long does it take to pick out clothes?” Dean looked at you impatiently as you eyed the clothing placed haphazardly on the racks in Goodwill. It was that time again where the group of you needed to restock on clothing. Such was the issue with hunting. Get beaten enough in some jeans and they no longer have the ‘cute tattered’ look, but more ‘is she homeless?’ look.

“It’s not easy, assbag.” You muttered as you eyed the sweater sitting on the rack before you. You weren’t quite in the plus-sized department, but you were close. Mostly because of the generous bust your mother had so kindly passed down to you.

You hated that woman some days.

“What do you mean it’s not easy! You grab a shirt, you put it on, you buy it. Easy.” You tossed a glare at Dean as he reached for the lilac sweater with a modest neckline. It was gorgeous, and it would be great for winter, but you went for t-shirts for a reason.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have these to shove inside of a shirt.” You motioned to your chest, currently encased in a t-shirt.

Dean stared, probably longer than necessary, and nodded in a ‘not bad’ sort of way. You shoved him, “Focus, tiger.” He pretended to look wounded.

“Just put on the sweater. It can’t be that bad.” You’d heard this before. So many times before. You had said it to yourself many times as well. Modest neckline, right?

You snatched the sweater out of his hands and stormed over to the fitting room, two other tops in tow.

It took a moment. You were used to this little dance you played with clothing at this point, tugging and pulling and wriggling inside of the top. But once you had finished that awful dance, you stepped triumphantly out to where Dean was standing.

He just about lost it.

He coughed, staring at you. A ‘modest’ neckline revealed more cleavage than was entirely necessary and a nice lilac sweater became something you might see in a porn about a librarian. So of course, the two of you saw it differently.

“That is…. wow. Ok. Well, it’s flattering, right?” He smiled at you, taking most of his willpower to look away from the ample bosom before him.

“There is nothing ‘flat’ about this top, Dean.” He nodded again, staring at your cleavage before looking back at you.

“Ok, well.. try on… whatever this is.” He held out a camisole top to you and you looked at him like he had just handed you an atomic bomb. Was he serious? Did he not understand what was happening here?

The change was quick, though most of it was spent trying to hide your bra in this case (did clothing designers forget people wore bras?)

Stepping out, Dean almost fell over, his internal dialogue stopped, “Jesus Christ, Y/N. Fuck! I mean… that… uh… Ok, I’ll level with you, I can’t look at your face right now.” He was quite serious. The camisole revealed not only ample cleavage this time but the entire shape of your chest. A chest that he had typically seen hidden. And his eyes were very much there.

“See?! I don’t just make this stuff up. Let’s just go.” You mumbled, having picked out a few decent t-shirts and some jeans that would keep you going.

“Hey hey hey, wait a second…” He carefully reached out and took your arm, tugging you gently towards him, “How about you get that top? I mean… I’d personally like to see you walking around the bunker in that more often.” He smirked, a playful smirk that you knew well. The same one he used on the waitresses in bars and women he was trying to pick up.

“Dean!” You flushed, scarlet washing over your skin as you laughed, looking around to see if there was anyone looking.

“Listen… I get that you’re self-conscious, but level with me for a second here.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest and he eyed you, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ve gotten more than one stare since we walked in here. And it’s not because of your keen fashion sense.

Again you blushed, “So what’s your point?”

Dean looked surprised as he stood back, “My point? My point is that while you may not want this body you’ve been blessed with, most of the men in here certainly want it, and I mean in the biblical sense. Present company included.” You continued the flush and looked from side to side, awkwardly as if someone might notice.

“Fine, but can we just get out of here and head back?” Dean grinned widely at you and leaned in, placing a hand on your hip as he whispered into your ear.

“Long as you promise to wear that little number.”  
____

The drive back to the bunker was quick, though you had suddenly become very fascinated with staring out the window. You knew Dean was grabbing a peek at you every so often, licking his lips on occasion as he lingered. Maybe he was doing it to make you feel better, or maybe he was actually serious.

You’d never noticed people staring at you before. If they did you always assumed it was just because you stood out. Women were taught not to idolize themselves or even see themselves as pretty. You knew that. You’d be considered narcissistic if you, god forbid, liked how you looked in those tops. But maybe Dean had a point.

Once inside the bunker you told Dean you were going to go watch some Scrubs. Cas had revitalized your love of Netflix and you figured it was a good way to turn off your brain for a while.

“If you’re gonna hide, then I’m hiding with you.” Dean announced it as a declaration more than a request. You sighed a bit. He knew you well. You were still embarrassed about the whole incident at Goodwill and wanted nothing more than to forget that the camisole even existed. But Dean wouldn’t allow it. Wasn’t his style. He cared about you more than anything and wanted to make sure you knew it.

“Fine. But you can’t complain when I quote Dr. Cox.” He smirked and nodded his head in agreement, following you into what had passed as the living room.

It wasn’t long before the two of you, curled up on the old couch that had certainly seen better days, had fallen asleep. It had been a long week and you were having none of it. So when you felt a strange pressure on your chest, you were pulled from sleep.

“Wha- huh?” You yawned, looking down to see that Dean had sprawled out over the couch -typical dean style- except this time he was resting his head on your chest. He was using you as a goddamn pillow.

“Dean!” You shouted it, but he didn’t move. He was smiling. The little ahole wasn’t even asleep. You stared down at him from your place sitting up, eyeing him as he smirked.

“See, now I really don’t get why you don’t like these. They’ve got purpose. Soft… warm… I could do this for hours.” You glared down at him, but truthfully it felt nice. He had gone out of his way to not only make you feel good about your body, but to stay with you to ensure it stuck. He was doing it not just because he wanted you to feel better but because he wanted you to see what he saw. Know what he felt.

“Now if it’s all right with you, I’m going to go back to sleep.” He smirked and you grinned down at him.

You were always going to be a sucker for green eyes and a smooth talker.


	19. Netflix And Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader (and literally... chill)

This was not happening. This could not possibly be happening. This was the worst thing in the history of the world to be happening and it was happening to you.

“What do you mean the heater’s busted?!” You stared at Sam and Dean while layered under a few different items of clothing. The baggy hoodie was the final touch and you, admittedly, looked kind of like Mr. Puft in Ghostbusters.

Sam rolled his eyes, “Cas and I are going to try and fix it. Given that Dean is the one who broke it.” Sam gave his brother a look and Dean shrugged his shoulders.

“Bull. I still say a ghost broke it.” Sam walked off without speaking, leaving you to stare at Dean.

“You ahole.” Your voice was stoic as you stared at the man before you, somehow not nearly as cold as you were. Then again, you were never good with cold.

“Oh please, it’s not that bad.” Dean huffed out as he began to walk out of the library. You chased after him, sliding a bit in your two pairs of socks.

“There are children in Africa warmer than me!” Ok, that wasn’t the best argument.

“That’s because they’re in Africa!” Dean looked at you as if you’d just asked him to go do some situps or something. He kept walking and shrugged at you, “Bonus to no heat, I don’t have to worry about my beer getting warm.” You scowled hard at him. What a stupid bonus.

“If my extremities fall off because you broke the heat and I freeze to death, I’m going to haunt you.” It occurred to you as you made the threat that this was something that might work on other people. Dean, on the other hand, wasn’t other people. Instead, he paused, looked at you, and then kept going.

“Well, fine then! I’m going to watch Netflix and freeze to death!” You called after him and he wiggled his fingers at you in a wave without turning around.

_Stupid Dean Winchester breaking the stupid heat with his stupid green eyes and stupid handsome face. Stupid being hot and stuff._

Since your realization that you were, essentially, in love with Dean, you’d been doing everything in your power to either become upset at him or avoid him. Him breaking the heat seemed like a good enough time as any to get mad. After all, he did in fact break it and you could in fact focus on that as a way to hate Dean.

Except it wasn’t working at all. It was the opposite of working. Didn’t mean you were going to stop trying, of course.

Criminal Minds would totally put that at bay. What better way to forget about everything hunting related than to sit in a cold room and watch a show about how humans are crazier than anything else in the whole world?

Curling up on the couch you flicked on the television, turning on the streaming device you had hooked up to it. Seemed like a good enough way to forget about Dean Winchester. Morgan, Reid, even Penelope Garcia and her peppy ways would certainly help.

You’d grabbed two blankets by now and had curled up inside them, turning it on and playing the episode you were currently at. Season 8, meaning you had a little ways before finding a new show to binge. Wouldn’t be that-

“Criminal Minds, really? You see crazy shit on a daily basis and you wanna watch a show about crazy people, too?” Dean entered, no longer holding a beer this time, staring at you as he plunked down across from you on the couch.

Fuckin’ A.

“Yeah, really. Reminds me that people really are weirder than what we deal with.” You turned it on and Dean nodded his head at you.

“Fair. Sammy never listens at me when I tell ‘im that.” You wanted to tell him something snarky, but you were more irritated than anything that he was interrupting the one thing you had decided to do to avoid him.

So you kept quiet, letting it play as Dean got comfortable, watching his movements out of the corner of your eye (as best you could given the blanket situation).

It wasn’t long before Dean started tugging at one of the blankets, “All right, sister. Give it up. I’m getting cold.”

You held the blankets tighter, “NO I WILL NOT, DEAN WINCHESTER!” You curled into the fetal position as you gripped to them. There was no way you’d be able to keep your composure if he got under those blankets with you. Hell, you weren’t keeping your composure very well right now. No, you were flailing like a five-year-old who wanted a candy bar.

“Y/N! Give it up, you ain’t gettin’ all the blankets!” He proceeded to get up and tug hard at the blankets, causing you to let go of your iron grip of them. You whimpered as he managed to crawl underneath with you, not settling for just being across the couch. No, he wanted to be close.

“If you’re really that cold, this’ll help. C’mon.” He pulled you in against him and you felt your heart pound. You could smell him. His deoderant, his soap, his own smell, leather, oil from the car… it was heavenly.

You were trying so hard to focus on the show. So of course, when Morgan and Penelope spoke on the phone and he called her ‘Babygirl’ and she made comments about being spanked, you felt yourself flush. Oh god. Why did Dean have to be watching this with you? Why couldn’t he just go watch porn or whatever it was that he did and leave you be? You’d invent some way to hate him, you were sure you could.

“So were you ever thinking about telling me how you felt about me?” He didn’t even look over. If you’d been drinking something you were sure you’d have coughed it up.

“Wh-what? Huh? What do you mean?” Great recovery.

“This whole ‘pretending to hate me’ bit you’ve got going on. It seems exhausting. Ever thought about just asking me if I felt the same way?” You shrunk further into the blankets as he spoke, looking over at you now.

He couldn’t help but laugh at how comical you were, shrinking away under the covers, “That’s stupid. You’re stupid.” No, seriously, you were on a roll here.

He laughed and leaned in, “Ok, well how about I start? Y/N, I think you’re beautiful. I think you’re smart, cute, charming, stunning, strong, passionate… and I’d really like to kiss you right now.” His voice had lowered an octave and his lips were much closer to yours. Suddenly you were no longer nearly as cold as you had been.

“I… aw fuck. Yeah. I like you, Dean.” God, what were you, ten?

“What are you, ten?” He spoke and you laughed that he had seemed to read your mind. But he was smiling, hand reaching up and brushing against your cheek. As he leaned in, placing his rough lips gently on your own, you felt yourself melting. This was certainly better than any Netflix episode you could put on.

As he pulled away, you smiled, “That uh… that was nice. I think we should do things like that more often.” You smiled sheepishly at him and he smirked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah? More of this?” He went in to kiss you, though you noticed Cas standing in the doorway, you almost falling over.

 

“Cas!” Dean jumped as well, though staying on the couch.

“Jesus Christ, Cas! What are you doing?” Cas looked concerned, narrowing his eyes a bit (though that could have meant anything).

“I wish you wouldn’t use that expletive.” Dean took in a sharp breath of air and you bit your lip as to not laugh.

“Sorry… what are you doing, Cas?”

“Sam wished for me to inform you that the heater has been fixed. Although it appears you’ve found alternate heat sources.” Dean rubbed his face a bit as Cas stood.

“Thanks, Cas. Go bother Sammy.” Cas turned and left the room, leaving you to grin up at Dean from under your blankets.

“Netflix and chill, am I right?” Dean looked at you, perplexed. But you got the joke, “Nothing just… let’s keep doing the whole kissing thing, OK? I liked it.”


	20. I'm In 'Like'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

“I _saaaaaaaid_ I’m drunk!” Dean watched you across the table, the bar loud and chaotic, even for a Friday night. Winter break in a college town tended to do that to a place.

Dean had watched you imbibe copious amounts of alcohol, curious to see exactly how you acted under the influence. You were known to be fairly business oriented and while he hadn’t known you a long time he’d known you long enough to be curious.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He rested his face on his hand and smiled at you with his elbow propped on the table. It was clear to anyone with a brain that you were gone. He had been happy to pay your bar tab to keep you fueled. If there was one solid thing you and Dean had in common it was certainly your decision to use alcohol as a coping skill.

“You… shuddup you.” You held out a finger to Dean as if to shush him and he grinned.

“Sorry, princess.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Now see, there’s yer problem… Dean Winchester… You make ladies wanna bone you.” Your words were more slurred than anything, but he got the gist. You were drunk, but not to the point where you’d be praying to the porcelain gods.

“Really? I do that? How do I do that, Y/N?” He was fascinated. Of course, Dean Winchester was a charmer, and of course he was going to have fun, but he drew the line at taking advantage of drunk women. Mostly he just wanted to see how much you’d divulge. His plan, ultimately, was to bring you back to your motel room and make sure you didn’t pass out before then.

You grinned as he asked. You knew what he was doing. He was seeing what he could get away with, “Pft… like now! Callin’ me princess. And sweetheart. And those eyes… and those arms…” You began to trail off, putting down your whiskey sour to grab at his biceps. He didn’t stop you. By now he was only in his black t-shirt and jeans. You squeezed one of the firm arms, “See, that’s not fair!”

Dean couldn’t help the laugh that came out of his mouth, “What’s not fair, these?” He lifted his arm and rolled up the sleeve, exposing more of his musculature. Flexing, you just about passed out.

“Oh, no see I know what you’re doing.” You lifted the drink and finished it, Dean taking a mental note to cut you off at this point and start filling you with water.

Dean smirked, that playful smirk dancing on chiseled features topped with a scruff along his skin. It was a smirk you had come to very much enjoy. It was a smirk you looked forward to when invited along on hunts with the Winchesters. It was a smirk you had forced yourself to ignore whenever it popped up because someone like Dean would never be interested in someone like you.

“So what exactly am I doing, sweetheart.” He dragged out the name as he leaned in a bit, both for the sake of intimacy and because he couldn’t hear you all that well.

“You, Dean Winchester, are making me swoon.” Your words, drunken and jumbled, touched him. He reached out and took your hand warmly. If you had been sober you imagine you would have blushed. As it stood now your face was already red and warm. Now you felt a chill down your spine as he held your hand and leaned in.

“What if I told you that you make me pretty weak in the knees yourself?” Those were not words you imagined hearing Dean Winchester say, though he was banking on you being too drunk to remember. Not that he didn’t want to tell you, and not that it wasn’t true, but he was afraid. In the same way Dean was truly afraid to be close to anyone he was afraid of telling you how he felt. It was the rare moment that another hunter could impress him the way you did, let alone a woman. He was quite taken.

“I’d say… well, shit. I don’t know what I’d say. I’d say you made me speechless.” He chuckled, a bit of an embarrassed chuckle that you’d notice if you weren’t so drunk.   
Enough that he looked down at the table to avoid eye contact. Those eyes of yours. He swore he could lose himself in them if he wasn’t careful.

“Speechless? You? Now there’s a feat.” He grinned.

“Ah, smartass.” You reached for the glass, which was now empty, giving a bit of a frowny face to Dean as if to ask for more.

“Nope, sorry, Y/N. You’ve hit your limit. And these kids are gettin’ on my nerves. Let’s get you back to the motel.” He had been mildly irritated at the kids yelling and screaming (oh god, youths) around the two of you. He liked you drunk, because you appeared to finally open up, but he wanted it to himself, selfishly. He wanted to know you on your own terms, too.

Getting you up and out the door proved to be harder than he had anticipated. Moreso because you kept insisting ‘they’re playing my song’ on the jukebox and Dean insisted not every single Taylor Swift song could be yours. Once that had been taken care of, the ride was easy. You weren’t sick so he wasn’t concerned about puking in the Impala. If anything, you nodded off a few times on the way over.

Finally at the motel, Dean was practically carrying you back to your room. You had nodded off quite a bit, the alcohol beginning to work its subduing effect on you.

But Dean was a gentleman above everything else. As he opened the door and laid you down, removing your shoes and jacket, you curled up.

It was nice, he thought to himself looking down at you. You were still awake, turning around a bit, but you looked peaceful.

“All right, drunky, I’m gonna head on out.” He rubbed his head a bit and you looked up, sitting up in bed.

“No… Dean. Don’t go.” He chuckled a bit as he walked to where you were, leaning down to brush some hair back.

“Gotta, sweetheart. I’ll just be-”

“No… please…” Your voice, in that moment, sounded sober as a judge. A look of sadness or maybe fear crossed your face and he recognized it. You didn’t want to be alone. It wasn’t that you wanted him in bed, but you just wanted someone to be with you. No sex. No funny business. You needed someone who cared, and Dean cared.

“How about I lay with you ‘till you fall asleep.” You nodded your head, pouting a bit as he scooted you over, pulling back the sheets and kicking off his shoes. He slid in behind you, spooning you with a strong arm you had so delicately described earlier as unfair.

“Dean Winchester. I’m in like with you.” You muttered it into the pillow. Dean looked at you confused as he pulled you against his warm body.

“You’re what?”

“I’m in like with you.” He laughed a little into your neck, kissing your shoulder as he lay down fully behind you.

It might have been your first night falling asleep in Dean Winchester’s arms, but you both had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.


	21. At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

You’d had no illusions about what it meant to become a hunter when you were younger. Sixteen had been an early age, certainly but you had made it. In your time alone you had made all sorts of connections that you imagined being older or tagging along with someone wouldn’t have leant you. People had assumed you to be weak or in need, neither of which was true. One of those little secrets you had stumbled on was a ward casting from a rather powerful witch. A good one, thankfully, the witch had tattooed you with marks to make you invisible to Angels and Demons. You were safe.

Finding the Winchesters as you got older had been helpful. Of course, you’d met Dean while saving his life on a rather hazardous ghost hunting experience. He had assumed that the bones were the only thing left and hadn’t done research enough to know there was blood of the ghost in the house painting. You had.

From there the two of you had been inseparable. A friendship had blossomed into a relationship and after that the rest was history. The two of you had been hunting together and living together in the Bunker. Sam hadn’t questioned it; you were good at your job. Incredible, even. They’d found all your resources from your youth to be impressive. Even the warding on your body had been useful and Castiel had admitted he’d never seen something like that before. You were untouchable.

There was the problem.

When you first got sick it was just the little things. You’d been tired more frequently, sore as hell after hunts that shouldn’t have done that to you, and generally not feeling well. You’d wound up losing a few pounds you didn’t need to lose and after an ache in your chest followed by difficulty breathing, you had given in and gone to the doctor.

Dean hadn’t known, nor Castiel or Sam. They’d have tried to stop you, you were sure. They’d have insisted they go with and you’d had a bad feeling. That feeling in your gut that told you there was something wrong.

Of course, you’d been right. Lung cancer, the x-ray had told. Never smoked a day in your life and yet here you were with stage four. A few months at best, he said. Time to get your affairs in order. A nice way of saying there was time to plan your own funeral.

The one Angel beyond Castiel that you did know well had told you due to your warding you couldn’t be healed. Your tattoo made you untouchable and it was a brand you’d carry until the day you died. She had apologized, offered to look further for an answer, but you had declined. You’d asked her not to look further and she’d agreed. Your own guardian Angel had respected your wishes.

The next step was not telling Sam or Dean. Telling them would ensure they’d do whatever it took to heal you, even if that meant selling their soul. Dean in particular. He would have died and spent eternity in Hell if it meant keeping you safe and alive.

Hiding your ailment had been tough. The coughing was the hardest as was the loss of breath, but you’d always laughed and chocked it up to being out of shape. You even covered it with being diagnosed with asthma by the doctor. Of course Dean had believed it; he wanted to. The idea of losing you in any capacity destroyed him.

“You doin’ OK, sweetheart? Your asthma seems to be kicking in today.” He looked over the books laid out at you, your hand still covering your mouth from your latest coughing fit.

Taking a drink of water you placed the cup down and smiled, “Allergies, I guess. Dust from the books are kicking my ass. Lame-ass diagnosis if you ask me.” You grinned widely at the man and he returned it.

“Just don’t get sick. And don’t cough on the books, these things are old.” He teased you and you only smiled. Looking across the table it broke your heart. He was so focused on the books, on keeping things low-key while you had one of your little ‘fits’.

The doctor had offered chemotherapy, stating that there was a chance you might extend your life to a year, but it would have made the year left intolerable. You’d be stuck inside throwing up and trying to live a life that had no chance of going beyond a year.

“You’re such an ass, Dean.” You’d smirked and tossed a pen at him. Once more it had resulted in Dean racing around and grabbing you. Normally you’d have laughed, usually able to stave off the pain, but this time was different.

As he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you, you screamed out. The pain in your chest had felt like knives, Dean placing you down carefully as he eyed you, “Jesus, did I hurt you, Y/N? What happened?”

You shook your head as he cupped your cheek, “No… it’s fine. I fell last night and bruised my ribs. Just didn’t wanna tell you.” You threw on your best smile and tried to hide the pain that consumed you. Your breathing felt labored but you were managing to keep it under control.

“Lift up your shirt and show me, Y/N. I wanna see the bruise.” He wasn’t buying it. Maybe it was because this wasn’t the first time it had happened.

“Controlling much? Why do you even care? It’s just a bruise.” You huffed a bit and moved out of Dean’s grasp, feeling guilty as you did it.

“Then you won’t mind Cas comin’ down and checkin’ you out. He can heal you.” Dean eyed you carefully as you looked down, fixing your shirt as though it was the most important thing on the planet.

“I do mind. I don’t need Cas fixing every little thing wrong with me.” You closed your eyes, wincing a bit as your breathing became even harder.

“Yeah, see that’s the problem. Cas hasn’t healed you once. You always say it’s because you wanna tough it out, but I’m not buying it.” You’d kept it to yourself about the brand stopping healing. Castiel had only known it to keep you entirely invisible and unaffected by an Angel or Demon’s powers.

“So let it go, Dean. It’s just a bruise.” You began to walk rather unsteadily towards the door, feeling the world around you begin to swim. It had been two months since your diagnosis and each day was harder to hide it than the last.

“Hey, wait, Y/N…” Dean called after you. It was the last thing you remembered hearing as you collapsed to the ground.  
________________________

_“Hey, you think we’ll be hunting in a nursing home someday?” You grinned over at Dean, the man holding you close as you sat in the back of the Impala on a gorgeous spring day. You were parked in the middle of nowhere outside Nebraska, looking out at the empty plane before you. The wind was making the tall grass dance and sway, finding it oddly hypnotic._

_“Sure as hell hope so. I wonder if we’ll forget which creatures we offed, though. They say dementia can be a bitch.” He smirked down at you and you laughed softly._

_Today marked three years together. Time sure did fly, you had thought to yourself. Each moment with Dean had proven to be better than the last. Even while fighting creatures and killing ghosts you had been happy. Had you ever been this happy before?_

_“You know, before I met you I was pretty sure I was gonna die alone. Figured hunting was a lonely life and besides Sammy and Cas I thought it’d just be me. Figured what my parents had wasn’t what I was gonna have.” He leaned down and buried his nose against your neck, the scruff on his face tickling, causing you to giggle._

_“Me too. I mean, the being alone part. Figured I had to do whatever it took. Sort of why I got the brand. Can’t rely on anyone.” You thought back to when the tattoo was marked on your skin and how alone you’d been. How afraid._

_“You can now.” He smiled, his deep voice vibrating against your neck and making you smile. Nowhere else did you feel as safe except in Dean’s arms in the back of the Impala. Dean and Baby holding you tight._  
________________________ 

When you woke you had been expecting to feel the warmth of the spring day, smelling the air that smelled of nature and life. Instead you were greeted with a cold sterility and artificial light blaring down onto your face.

You’d recognized it almost immediately as a hospital, looking to your side to see Dean looking over, bags under his eyes, “How long have I been out.” Your voice felt far away, muffled slightly by the beeping of the machines nearby.

His eyes were sad, “Two days.” He was holding your hand. Your skin had paled considerably, feeling suddenly fragile under his touch. There was a small machine helping air into your lungs through your nose and you knew things weren’t looking good.

Silence filled the air, interrupted in small intervals by nurses talking nearby. You didn’t know what to say to the man holding your hand that you knew would be lifeless in a few weeks. That was if you were lucky.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He spoke, tears evident as he did. You watched him with a kind of sadness reserved for those aware they were dying. A kind of sadness that you felt for everyone but yourself. It was the pain of knowing you were going to leave a man heartbroken.

“You would have done something stupid. We know Castiel can’t heal me, Dean. Crossroads Demon can’t help either, and I know you’ve talked to Crowley.” You grinned darkly. Not because you were mad or sad, but because you found a strange kind of humor. Couldn’t be touched by a Demon or Angel. You were invisible. It came with a price.

“We could have at least tried.” He whimpered out the words.

You smiled, holding his hand as strongly as you could, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand, “I never had much time, Dean. I always knew I’d go out young, but never thought it’d be like this. Sort of unfair, you know? I wanted to go down swinging. Kind of makes you mad at all those assholes who say ‘god has a plan’, huh?”

You knew that had been one of the man’s pet peeves. After all he’d been through he rarely believed in God having any kind of sway. If the man was real, he had demanded, he would have done something about one of the many different apocalypses present. You’d insisted he had in the form of Sam, Dean, and Castiel.

“It ain’t right.” He muttered, looking over at you with his bloodshot eyes. Once vibrant and green you had found them dim and sad. He was losing himself in losing you. Slowly was sometimes that much more painful.

“It’s what it is, Dean. We don’t get a say. Plus look at it this way: I get to choose where I go. And I get to go with you.” It was hard not to cry as you spoke. You wanted to be strong for the man who was holding you. You knew he was holding on to the hope he might get to keep you for longer but that wasn’t an option.

You were released from the hospital under care from Sam, Dean, and Castiel. Dean had sent Sam and Cas to look for some kind of ‘cure’, though both knew he was trying to spend more time alone with you. The first day back he’d insisted he look for a way to remove the brand but you had begged, “Let me spend my remaining days with you, Dean. I don’t want to be alone.”

You had cried then. This time he had remained strong and held you as you wept, tearful that you wouldn’t get more time with Dean. All you had wanted was to be with him.

And you were. Your time remaining was spent accruing moments of happiness and joy. You spent the good days making pies in the kitchen and letting Dean drive around aimlessly in Baby. It was the spring and it was a perfect time for driving with the windows down. You’d usually fall asleep, but he’d keep going until dark, just in case you woke up.

The bad days, the ones where you hurt too much to get up, were spent with Dean holding you. He had stopped insisting you eat and had tried his best to hold back the pain of watching you slowly disappear. The days you couldn’t get out of bed he’d put on your favorite movie to watch, even if you slept through it all. He’d keep the oxygen hooked up to let you breathe and he’d stay there until he fell asleep, no matter how uncomfortable.

The day you passed, you both woke knowing. You’d asked to drive to Nebraska and he had conceded. It was only a few hours.

The drive had passed wordlessly. Dean had rolled the windows down and you had forced yourself to stay awake. He hummed throughout the lyrics to Led Zeppelin, Kansas, and all the bands he had insisted you listen to when you weren’t sick. It was your own personal radio.

He arrived to the stretch of road you had remembered from that day years ago. The day was identical with the warm sun dancing on your skin. In this moment you no longer felt sick. You could smell the grass dancing before you, swaying with the gentle breeze. You felt comfortable. Good.

Dean helped you into the back, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close against his chest. He was warm, his heart beating hard but steady in his chest. He was so full of life with the world before him.

The windows of Baby were rolled down allowing in the gentle spring air. It was warm, though not hot. The sun touched the inside of the car as you looked out at the field before you.

“I think we’re the only people for a hundred miles.” You smiled as you spoke.

“I think you’re right. Cows don’t count.” He grinned, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. There was so much he wanted to say in that moment. Holding you tightly against him he thought if he held hard enough you wouldn’t go. You’d stay forever. He thought maybe… just maybe he could keep you.

“Promise me you won’t stop fighting, OK?” Your voice was trickling away slowly with the wind, feeling Dean as he lowered his lips against your neck the way he had years ago.

“I’ll fight every day. Promise you’ll wait for me?” You could feel his tears hot against your skin but you didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be right here.” You breathed out the words, the last words you’d ever speak. The last thing you’d ever say. And in that moment, as you left, you were happy.  
________________________ 

_Epilogue:_

Dean had fought hard, but in the end he was aged. It was hard to take on any kind of Demon, Vampire, or Ghost once you hit your sixties, he imagined. But he had continued to fight as he had promised you. Every day he woke up and he left with a gun and knife tucked away. Even after Castiel had left him and Sam. He never turned down a hunt.

He clutched the wound steadily bleeding on his chest from the creature before him. He had lost so much blood, lying in the corner as Sam continued to fight. He’d get out untouched, Dean was sure of it, but he knew his number was up. All his time alive he had feared what waited for him when he finally did die. Would it be Heaven? Hell? Purgatory? Or maybe something else. Would he really die alone?

As he closed his eyes, though, he felt it.

_“You were always afraid you would die alone, Dean. Remember? You always thought that even after I left you’d be alone. But you won’t be. You aren’t.” A smile etched itself onto your face as you stepped towards him, standing by Baby on that long stretch of road in Nebraska._

_“Is this Heaven?” He inquired, walking to your smiling form, no longer feeling the aches or pain that came from age. He was young. So were you._

_“It’s our Heaven. Soulmates, remember?” As you spoke, Dean looked over and saw Castiel standing and smiling. A knowing smile he recognized on the Angel. A smile that said there were no strings pulled here. No… this was where he belonged._

_“Have you been waiting for me?” He placed his hands on your hips and leaned down, taking in your scent and your touch in a way that he had missed. It had been so long without you._

_“I have. But you’re here now, with me.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close. It had been but a brief moment alone for you in Heaven but you knew. Feeling the leather seat of Baby beneath you, you’d known that this was Heaven._

_“I’m ready to stop fighting.” And he was._

_Together, you and Dean fell asleep in the back of Baby, never to be alone again._


	22. Love And Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean x Reader

It had become routine, you thought to yourself. Sitting in the back of Baby, nursing some sore muscles, notebook open in your lap. Dean was driving and Sam was sitting shotgun, music drifting lazily through the speakers. The hunt had been successful as it always was, and you were happy to have the back to yourself. Your legs were spread out across the seats and shoes on the floor, no way you’d put shoes on Baby’s leather. Dean might kill you.

On the notebook in your lap you had sketched an assortment of things. Currently it was the brothers. Hunting with them for so long you had become used to the routine of it all. Your feelings for Dean, however, had been a long time coming. When they’d first perked up about two years ago you had attributed them to just spending a lot of time around him. Nights spent awake drinking and talking with the man who knew every secret about you, and you of him. The man understood you.

At first you had convinced yourself it would dissipate with time. But as time went on the feelings only grew. You’d been a natural artist in your own time and so you spent your hours drawing and writing rather than live in the silence of the man you had fallen in love with. He could never feel that way about you, could never love you the way you did him. It was better to focus your efforts on hunting and admiring your own artistic talents.

But sometimes you dozed off while drawing in the back. Dean had admittedly tried to take a peek once or twice at your art, but you’d always been drawing what was around you. The car, houses that passed by, your own shoes on the floor of the car. You hid the other drawings from him. Numerous teasing sessions had stemmed from Dean desperately trying to get you to give up your book.

You never did.

Truthfully what lay inside it, scribbled onto pages and pages of history, were the boys, mostly. And mostly it was Dean. His hands gripping the steering wheel, his legs spread apart on the seat with confidence and swagger. His eyes, sharp and piercing. Currently you had been working on his profile, staring off into the distance as he drove. It was farmland around you now and boring as hell. Dean had a look to him you couldn’t quite explain, so you wanted to capture it. You drew and sketched, shading as you got his profile.

He was a strong man, powerful even on a bad day. Of course both he and Sam had been through so much but it was Dean that blamed himself. He had experienced life as a demon and he had experienced being the start of at least two apocalypse. Was that the plural? You doubted there were usually that many.

The drive was long and the hunt had been even longer, “How much longer we drivin’ this for, Dean?” You looked over at the man.

He didn’t even look away, though he did smirk, “You need a pee break already, princess?” You loved that smirk, the way it tugged up his face so subtly.

You grinned, “No, thank you. Just curious. I’m tired.” It was true. You were sore and exhausted and your own bed sounded like heaven right now.

“Shouldn’t be more ‘n another four hours.” He tossed the words back at you, hearing you groan audibly. It was hard not to, “Hey, quit your bitchin’, you ain’t the one drivin’, princess.” You rolled your eyes and went back to the sketching.

On its own you sketched a bit of the soft smirk you had just seen, tugging at his scruffy face, the rough lips that you tried not to imagine. Just Dean staring off into the distance, staring off into a world that you had wondered about so heavily. Was it just the world he was seeing? What was he thinking about? You smiled a bit and drew a bit of a thought bubble, sketching quickly some pie, cleavage, and whatever else that made you think of Dean.

Sam looked up, “What’re you grinning about, Y/N?” He had a smirk on his own face. For years, Sam had joked that you and Dean would wind up getting married and for years the two of you would give him shit. He had always called you the female Dean, but with better characteristics.

“None of your damn business, Samuel.” It was what you called him when you were being sassy. He rolled his own eyes back at you.

“You never show us what you draw. You’re gonna have to one of these days.” He grinned at you and you grinned in return. Your art had gotten better over time, as anything did when you repeated it enough. Endless hours calming yourself with a pencil on paper had done wonders.

“And you’re gonna have to mind your business, Winchester.” You yawned slightly as you went back to drawing Dean’s profile. You were focused on his eyes now, trying to match the intensity of the green given your only item of a pencil and paper. It felt blasphemous to not be able to color such powerful features on a person.

But eventually the feeling of exhaustion took you over, placing down your pencil in your notebook and closing it. It was hypnotic the way that Baby purred beneath you and rolled lazily down the highway. With the same things passing by, the windows down just enough to let the gentle spring air in and the sun that danced along your body, sleep beckoned you closer.

You were happy to follow, too. Your head lolled a bit before finally falling against the warm seat cushion, both brothers recognizing the telltale deep breathing that came from you falling asleep. It wasn’t snoring but you felt self-conscious about it anyway. Dean said he liked it.

He did.

Glancing into the rearview mirror Dean caught a glimpse of you sleeping. Your book was closed in your lap, looking peaceful. The hunt had been long and you’d gotten the brunt of the hits from the kitsune before finally taking it down. You often played the tough guy card but he saw through it pretty well. You had been scared and sore so he was happy to know you were sleeping. There was so much you kept inside, including your own little origin story. An orphan at fifteen and taken in to the Winchester family. You were closer than blood, he had argued.

Another hour passed before Dean pulled over for some gas. Sam went inside to the small, sleepy store to grab some food and drinks, Dean asking for a miniature pie as usual. Slipping out of the car he glanced back, noticing you were still out like a light. Curiosity flooded him as he saw the notebook in your lap, knowing he could reach out and take it. Would it be a violation of privacy? He thought it might be, but the intent was mostly because he wanted to see what you were working on, not because he wanted to be invasive.

With Sam still inside, he carefully reached back, sliding up one of the sleeves on his flannel shirt as he gently scooped up the book. Your hand fell languidly back into your lap, stirring only slightly as he watched you. It was hard not to admit how incredibly drawn he was to you. You were always a thing of beauty in a world of so much chaos and dirt. You always shone brightest, he thought. Always had that fire that never raged but instead warmed. You were a power all your own which is what he adored most.

Opening the book he sat in the driver’s seat, still neglecting to begin pumping gas. He almost shook as he peered inside, at first taken by some of the sketches he saw. There was a cat, one he recognized that Castiel had tried to ‘talk to’ at one point. Another drawing of a church the three of you had gone into, looking to take down a ghost. You’d captured the stained glass perfectly, even with just pencil and paper.

Turning the page again he was surprised to see a full drawing of himself. He was slumped over a book in what looked like the Bunker library. There was intensity in his eyes you had so perfectly captured, a look of the dutiful son. He found himself tracing his fingers over the drawing, carefully. Turning a few more pages he was surprised to see that the majority of the drawings were of him. Sure, Sammy was in there and Castiel as well (along with your own idea of his wings), but it was Dean. It was always Dean.

The current one you’d been working on struck him most. He thought you had focused so hard on his face that he might be worried it was a photograph. The thought bubble was what caught him. He grinned at the pie, and the cleavage you had somehow captured. But what killed him, what knocked him off of his feet, were the words you had sketched in. Poetry was something you only dabbled in, so you said, but he was surprised:

_The love we deserve,_   
_The love we think we deserve,_   
_In nights of whiskey and quiet romance_   
_I see your eyes._   
_Hope. Power. Love. Fear. Need._   
_Love._   
_The love we will never deserve_   
_Drowned in whiskey and quiet fear_   
_The smell of leather and your cologne,_   
_I am drowning in you. I will live_   
_And love without you._

He frowned as he read it. Certainly not a poet at heart Dean however understood the message. The idea that you might have loved him and that he couldn’t return that. He could only wince.

Closing the book gently he reached back and once more placed it where it had been, softly touching your hand to replace it on the book. He was surprised at what he felt in the moment, seeing you so vulnerable and innocent. It was a look you showed almost no one. He had seen your art and been impressed not just because it was so good, but because it was so powerful.

As if in a dream, Dean slowly got out of the car, finally beginning to pump gas into the vehicle that had sat idle for at least five minutes while Sam was inside. When the younger brother finally did come out he was quick to notice the demeanor change in Dean, “Hey, you good?” He tossed the items in the car and watching him over the roof of it.

Dean shrugged, “Why wouldn’t I be?” He squinted a bit as he turned back, the sun blaring down onto him. Sam was quick to also notice Dean didn’t actually answer the question. He decided not to pry, however. He had a sinking feeling it had to do with the notebook you had refused to give up but he wasn’t going to throw Dean under the bus.

The rest of the ride back to the Bunker had been without incident and you had remained almost comatose for the entire four-hour-ride back. Well, shortened into three-and-a-half. When Dean finally did pull into the garage, the familiar feel of the Bunker stirred you to life.

“Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.” Dean grinned back at you. For a moment he felt bad about the quip, knowing how you felt, but you were able to roll your eyes. How long had you been faking this whole ‘being ok’ thing? Not that he could argue, he was the same way.

“Oh, Lord… I’ll be glad to sleep in my own bed.” You mumbled, stretching your stiff arms and body as you opened the door and got out. You tossed the notebook back into your bag without thinking, ignoring the green eyes tracking you intently. A piece of you perked up and thought that maybe he had read your notebook, but you were just being paranoid. It had been in your lap the whole time.

You went to grab your larger bag out of the trunk, surprised when Dean hefted it over his shoulder, “Got it, Y/N.” Shrugging a little, you stood back, following the boys back into the Bunker proper.

It was as it had been left, of course. Only a few days out meant that the place was without issue. Quiet was the only thing that greeted you, a quiet you had grown accustomed to. Carrying your aching body towards your room, expecting Dean to simply toss your bag down, you imagined how nice it would be to take a hot shower. A hot shower in your own bathroom without anyone to hassle you about how long you took.

“Thanks, Dean.” You spoke as you waited for him to drop it, surprised as he continued walking in the direction of your room, “Doorstep service? Sure as hell aren’t getting a tip from me.” You grinned widely as he opened your door quietly, not responding to your quip. Anxiety slipped through you, wondering what was wrong. He was never this quiet. Normally he’d have made an inappropriate comment about tips and drop your bag on the ground. This was not normal.

Stepping inside he placed your bag down by the bed, looking up at you with green eyes more sullen than you had seen in a long time. It was a look you recognized from the mirror, from those times you had told people they’d be better off without you. From breakups.

“Y/N, I know I shouldn’t be tellin’ you this but… hell, I looked through the notebook. I’m sorry, I know it was prying, I just wanted to see, that’s all. I didn’t realize…” He trailed off as he shook his head, your own face becoming red, both from anger and embarrassment.

“Dean that was my notebook! I can’t believe you’d just go through it like that!” The tears in your eyes surprised you as you shook your head. He still had that look on his face, in his eyes. It was a look you knew well and were it under different circumstances you might ask to draw.

“I know that, I’m sorry I just… I don’t know how to say this, Y/N.” He looked terrified and sad. He looked the same way you looked when you ended it. Completely.

Shaking your head you took a step back, hand covering your mouth before placing it on your head, “Don’t say it, Dean. Just don’t. I know what you’re going to say and I can’t hear it. I just… you had no right to go through my notebook, OK? That’s mine, that’s me. And fuck you for doing it. So just put my stuff down and I’ll get my things and go.”

You knew what he was going to say. Maybe he’d coddle you and talk about how you could work through it, but Dean was not the coddling type. He’d found you out for what you were: a fraud. A woman trying to pretend she wasn’t just desperately in love with a man incapable of loving her back.

Wiping a few tears away you turned from him, trying to walk past where he was. Where would you go? You had your car, and maybe there were a few contacts who might let you crash a bit before you found your own way again. Maybe it was for the best. Only way to get over someone was to erase them.

When his arm reached out and grabbed your sore bicep, however, you turned at his words, “Y/N, wait one second, OK? God, I thought I overreacted.” You looked at the rug as he spoke, trying hard to avoid the face that would make you crumble to pieces.

But he wouldn’t allow it. His warm hands, warm and rough and familiar, placed onto your face and tilted it upwards, green eyes practically boring a hole into you, “You know how long I’ve been keepin’ this up for, Y/N? Since the second I laid eyes on you. Been in love with you since that day we met you at Bobby’s, an’ I’ll be in love with you until the day I die. You’re more than blood to me, you’re everything.”

His words were soothing and gentle. They were gruff and calm the way he always was but his face had mellowed. He hadn’t known what to do with the very idea that you might be in love as well and it had pained him so heavily to think you had needed to hide it. Any part of you that wasn’t free felt hard. So when he leaned down and placed his lips warmly on yours, you understood your own poetry. You understood you were loved, and nothing could break that.

_Love and whiskey._   
_Love, quiet and warm._   
_Drowning in you,_   
_And learning to swim alongside._


	23. I Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, let me state this with a TRIGGER WARNING: DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. Please, don’t read this if it’ll break you. But know that this was healing for me. As a woman still recovering from a rather horrific past relationship, I wrote this from my own experiences. I never had someone to hold me or help me through it, but I sure as heck wish it’d been Dean. It’s not a request, but it’s what I needed to write.

“Y/N?” You heard the voice of a tired Dean, sauntering towards you in the darkness of the library. You’d had the laptop open in front of you, trying not to jump as you saw him walking towards you. He was wearing his usual boxers and a white t-shirt, grey bathrobe hanging open on his form. Normally you might have appreciated the view. Not tonight.

Glancing at the clock on the laptop, you saw it read “3:34am” on the bottom. You shook your head and looked at Dean, “Yeah, just getting some reading done.” You clicked open a few tabs, hiding a few others on your browser. But Dean, the man quick to know when someone was hiding something on the computer, cocked an eyebrow.

He sauntered towards you, pulling up a seat next to you, “Lookin’ at porn in the library? Last I checked you had a room in the Bunker.” He raised an eyebrow, rubbing his tired eyes and glancing up at you.

You tried to force a smile, and it was a look Dean knew well, “Yeah, I’ll be more careful next time. Did I wake you?” Your voice was sad. It was sad in a way that was recognizable to anyone who knew you well. It was painful to Dean.

“Nah, thought I’d grab some food, saw the light coming from the library, saw your door open… figured I’d check and see if you were OK.” He was watching you. It was hard to hide anything from the man who was king of the Poker Face. He knew little about your past, beyond having found you hunting a few years back. You seemed to keep most of yourself a secret, and Sam nor Dean had ever pried.

“Oh… Good. Yeah. You know, just thought I’d check some obituaries.” You looked at the screen you’d opened, the general obit section for some random paper in Colorado.

“Yeah, obits. That’s what I usually check when I’m hiding porn.” Dean spoke non-chalantly, grabbing your laptop with reflexes far too quick for a man who’d just been asleep.

Your heart began racing, “Dean, no!” He seemed focused, no grin on his face, clicking through until he brought up the tab you’d been hiding. The tab on him. The tab that had kept you awake after you had decided falling asleep early would be a good idea. The tab about the man you thought you might never stop having nightmares about.

His eyes were focused, pin-pointed on the screen. It was a Facebook page, nothing special, but it was there. The look on Dean’s face was one you hadn’t seen before, your own eyes falling to the floor. It was quiet as he stared at the screen, speaking briefly, “Who is he?”

It wasn’t an accusatory question by any means. Dean was a man who gave you your space, despite his own desires to take you into his arms. He had kept his space because you had kept yours. He had wanted you to be comfortable, but he was getting a bad feeling. He didn’t like the smug look on that son of a bitch’s face. He didn’t like the vibe coming off of you. He didn’t like any of it.

“He uh… he’s from a while ago. Few years ago, actually. You know, it’s not a big deal, Dean.” You went to go get the laptop, but his stare stopped you. It was the stare of a man angry. More than angry, furious.

“Who is he? Tell me what he did.” Dean was not a happy man, and you were growing increasingly concerned. This was not a topic you had broached in a long time. Years. It was a topic you had pushed away so deep you wondered how it had even touched the surface.

You sighed, looking down, “I couldn’t sleep. I have these dreams occasionally, you know? I can deal with the hunting stuff. I’m used to violent dreams. But with him… it’s always guilt. I always feel so goddamn guilty.” You shook your head, fighting back tears that welled up, not realizing you were picking nervously at the wooden table. But Dean saw it all.

“I get worried. How dumb is that, right? A hunter scared of some asshole.” You let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head and pushing back your hair, “I mean, it was years ago. I just… I know how scared I was. I remember it sometimes, I feel it. It’s like being back there all over again. One nightmare is all it takes, and I’m back to his old house. I can’t go back to sleep.”

You reached out, gently taking the laptop back and eyeing the page. Dean didn’t stop you this time. He just watched you as you stared at the screen, “I check from time to time, make sure he isn’t near me. Or I’m not near him. It’s why I skipped that last trip. DC was too close to him.” You tried to look away, forcing yourself instead to close the tab. But his eyes lingered on you. Those other man’s eyes. The eyes of the man who stole years of your life and it just wasn’t fucking fair.

Some people had told you that it wasn’t really abuse. You’d been told it didn’t count, or to let it go. He was gone, right? And so you had tried. When you met Sam and Dean it was a chapter of your life you had tried to seal shut. A book you had wanted to burn.

Dean reached out, gently and slowly taking your hand, a sudden softness to him that forced you to look at him. His eyes were wide, filled with a sorrow you felt was your own, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He thought suddenly how so much made sense. How you refused to share a bed, to the point you had fallen asleep in the Impala. Dean had taken it personally, but it never was. You were scared.

“And tell you what, Dean? Tell you about those holes he put in the wall? How he threatened to blackmail me? Or maybe the scalding water he threw on me. Maybe next time I’ll tell you about how he went 90 down the highway, me screaming and begging him to stop as he screamed at me. Those aren’t exactly conversation starters.” There were tears, but they felt so natural. It was a topic that routinely caused you pain. As much as you pushed it down, there were always those days it came back up.

You felt his hand holding yours softly, but you could also feel his body tense. He was gritting his teeth as you spoke, looking away only because he didn’t want to direct his rage at you, “Did he ever…”

Your head only nodded. To discuss the physical aspect, the parts he had done that you wondered if you’d ever recover from, felt unreal. It wouldn’t happen. No, you had promised yourself instead that no man would ever touch you again. Those times Dean had gone in for a hug, you had jokingly pushed him or Sammy away. The world was beginning to make sense.

“It’s fine. Listen, he’s… well, he’s wherever he is. And I’m here. Just gotta get over it, right?” You didn’t want to let go of Dean’s hand, though. In a moment where you had thought no one might ever touch you again, you were realizing he was only there to be a kind human being. A rock. A solid man in a world of your personal tragedy.

“It ain’t fine, Y/N. And it sure as hell ain’t something you get over. I’ll tell you what, if I ever see that son of a bitch, I swear to God I will end him the moment I see him. Ain’t no man does that to another person. Only monsters do that.” He had gotten closer, a hand reaching up and carefully wiping away tears.

What happened next, you weren’t sure about, but you found yourself wrapping your arms around Dean’s neck. He was holding you tightly, feeling your shoulders move as you sobbed into him. The world had gone on spinning and you had figured no one could ever love you. No one ever might. At a time in your life when you had felt your most alone, Sam and Dean had come in. Neither had known how powerful their presences had been, but Dean was beginning to understand.

“I got you, Y/N… I got you.”


	24. Pokemon- Where'd She Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble! Based entirely on Pokemon Go and my fun experiences. I haven’t found werewolves, but people have found dead bodies. So why not both? Hope you like it, and be safe catching ‘em all!

“So did you notice anything unusual before your wife disappeared?” Dean held his pen against the pad of paper in his hand, donning his usually impressive FBI attire he had gotten used to since his initial hatred over ten years ago.

The man, obviously distraught, shook his head, “What? What do you mean?” He shook his head and tried to focus.

Dean shrugged, “Cold spots, smelling sulfur, lights fli-” He was quickly cut off by a sharp yell from the front door.

There you stood, phone in hand, smile on your face as you held your other hand up in victory, “YAHTZEE!” Sam, who had been looking around the room for anything obvious, paused as he watched you. Dean contorted his face in confusion as he turned. The distraught husband looked simply confused.

Feeling eyes on you, you looked up, dropped your hands, and threw on a smile, “Sorry I… got a lead in a case. My mistake.” You could feel the heat in your face as you quickly ducked into the house proper, going back to eyeing your phone if only to avoid the looks you were getting from the three men inside.

It was no surprise you were a bit of an oddball. They’d grown accustomed to it and Dean especially so. He liked your quirky nature and he liked that it kept him from going too stir crazy. You lightened him up when he needed it, which was frequently. However, right now was not one of those times, which you were getting the idea of pretty quickly.

Walking towards the staircase, you began to go up, feeling your phone vibrate knowingly again. Pulling out with excitement you quickly looked down.

Motherfucking Caterpie.

Mumbling, not one to grind, you shoved the phone back in your pocket and continued on your journey through the home for the paranormal. Sam nor Dean knew you were playing, though you imagined if they did their response wouldn’t be great. Sam had become skeptical when you stared intently at your phone while Dean drove, swiping desperately every once in awhile. And when you cursed dramatically, he had a pretty good idea.

The tour of the home was short, the three of you finding yourselves quickly at the local bar, going over some of the data you had compiled, “The EMF didn’t go off in the house, but I did find some weird hair on the-”

Dean looked up from talking, watching as you got up without a word, phone in hand, and darted for the parking lot. It was late, and you weren’t a smoker, so Dean was pretty confused. He tossed a look to Sam who only shrugged, “Don’t look at me, dude. She’s your girlfriend.” Dean watched, almost amused but also concerned, as you stumbled around the parking lot, holding your phone out, pausing, bumping into a person, apologizing, and doing the same thing again. It was becoming clear as you stood at the edge of the parking lot cursing at nothing you were absolutely playing that goddamn game.

“All right. She’s gonna get herself hit by a car at this rate. This is a sickness.” Dean downed the rest of his beer, watching as you were already wandering into the nearby forest, not really paying attention to anything except for the Charizard on the screen. Motherfucking CHARIZARD. ON YOUR SCREEN.

Your eyes were wide as you stumbled further, “Two pawprints my ass. FUCK ONE MORE! Oh my god, Charizard!” You screamed happily as the creature came up on your screen, the creature people kept saying didn’t exist. What did Reddit know, anyway?

What happened next was all sort of weird. You held up the phone to catch it, only to see a fucking werewolf behind the Charizard. No. No way, “Hey, dude, I know you wanna eat me but can you do me a solid at let me catch this thing before you try?” It snarled, getting closer as you fumbled for your knife while simultaneously feeding the Charizard some razzberries and getting out your ultra ball.

“Are you-? Son of a bitch. Get down!” Dean’s voice behind you prompted you to drop, really only slightly as you were throwing balls at the Charizard. Shots rang out as Dean placed two expert bullets into the werewolf’s chest.

“YAHTZEE!” You screamed, holding up the phone again as it signaled you had successfully captured the elusive flying dragon fire pokemon (whew).

But just as quickly as you had caught it, you felt Dean snatch the phone, “All right, enough. Princess, you are gonna get yourself killed. That was the man’s wife!”

A smile crossed your face as you stood before him, “So you’re saying because I came into the woods chasing a Pokemon, we solved the case?” There was a stupidly large smile across your lips. Mostly because you were right.

Dean rolled his eyes heavily, sighing as he handed you your phone back, “Just… don’t ask the werewolf to wait for your game next time. OK?” He looked down at you with concern on his features.

You could only smile. Leaning up on your toes, you planted a gentle kiss on his lips, “Thank you, elder Winchester.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “I’m either stupid for loving you so damn much or you’re lucky I do.”

You smirked playfully, “Let’s go with both. Now, help me catch this Raichu that’s nearby,”


	25. Sergeant Winchester (Prison AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I work in a prison. Essentially the reader is doing my job, so you get a look into the prison system. It's an AU, clearly. Also Dean Winchester in a sergeant’s uniform is so incredibly amazing I had to write it. Dean with handcuffs? Yes, please. But in seriousness, it’s a bit of a long fic. I contemplated parts, but I owe you guys parts for others, so I’d feel bad making a new fic. So it’s a one-shot.

It wasn’t that you hated Sergeant Winchester. No. You and Dean Winchester had a rocky go of things since he had become the sergeant on the unit you worked in, but it wasn’t impossible. You just always saw a different side of it. He was custody, you were mental health. He wore a uniform, you didn’t. Unsaid lines were drawn in the sand, and while you didn’t hate Sergeant Winchester, you definitely thought about punching him once or twice.

“Morning, Sarge.” You walked onto the unit, ten minutes early as usual, hitting your seven am starting time without missing a beat. You tipped your cup of coffee in the man’s direction to be polite. It was better to feign happiness and politeness when in the presence of offenders. They could see everything. And Sergeant Winchester could see them, as well. Standing in the unit with his officer navy blue colors, he looked like any police officer. Hell, even the gold badge on his chest hearkened to that. The stripes were what set him apart and told the world of his rank in this place.

“Morning, Ms. Y/L/N.” He was curt, which was his usual tone. You expected nothing else. You simply strode past him with keys in hand making your way to your office. It was large, nothing fancy, in the middle of the living unit of the medium-custody prison facility. The windows in the office looked out at the dayroom, occupied by men sizing up your every move. Mostly you were tolerated or liked, being mental health had that effect. But that was from the offenders.

Officers could take you or leave you. A few knew you well and those who spent time with you knew that you were good at your job. No walking all over you, no staff compromising. You were damn good at your job and damn good at keeping a cool head in the hardest environment in the world. You were proud of that.

Dropping your bag down you went through the usual process of booting up the archaic computer in an office that felt more like a fishbowl. Sure, you didn’t love the sergeant, but he was good at his job. Most folks understood that. Offenders kept clear of him and officers listened. He had been doing it for long enough to know what safety meant. And what being an idiot entailed.

Your day went on as it always did, you walking out of the office and onto the living quarters, surrounded by convicts but acting like it was nothing. You smiled, as always, listening to complaints and voicing alternatives. You’d always thought there was nothing special to what you did. Just your job, right?

It was mid-conversation with another offender when you heard the yelling. You’d been discussing the man’s upcoming release, his concerns getting the better of him, when there was the sound of a crash and yelling coming from your left. Eyes all fell towards the commotion as they were wont to do in a situation in prison, but you went towards it. Never one to shy from danger, you were more concerned that there was someone hurt.

You got down the tier, on the upper level as you saw the man standing by the balcony, wearing his prison khaki pants and shirt, shattered glass from his television in hand. Across from him, cornered on the tier, was his cellie. The man holding the glass went by Matthews and his cellie, the man cornered, a younger man Holden. Both men’s eyes were wide, but you remembered Matthews. His release was soon, wasn’t it?

“Hey, Mr. Matthews, it’s me, Y/N.” Normally formal, you had decided to go with using your first name. It was times like this you regretted your choice not to wear a radio, knowing however that the officers would be up there shortly.

“I know what you’re gonna tell me! I’m gonna do it!” His voice was hostile, but terrified. He was a young man afraid of leaving the system that had made him damaged goods.

“Then you know what’s gonna happen. Mr. Matthews, this isn’t gonna end well if you don’t put the glass down. We both know Mr. Holden didn’t do anything, and we both know what’s going on. Can you look at me, Mr. Matthews?” You knew you were playing a dangerous game. You weren’t part of the negotiation team, but the man was in crisis. What were you supposed to do? Let it happen?

“Let them spray me! It won’t stop me!” Tears were burning his eyes as he glanced back at you, shaking now as you locked onto his terrified face.

“You don’t want to be sprayed with OC gas, Mr. Matthews. Frankly, neither do I.” You smirked a bit at him, trying to relieve the pressure, “So tell you what. Put down the glass and listen to the officers, OK? Let Mr. Holden go.”

He was shaking harder, Holden getting nervous now as he tried to stay still. History told him now was the best time to shut the hell up and let someone else do this. Matthews was staring at you still, “They’re gonna put me in seg, Y/N!” He was tearing, beginning to cry.

By now the tier had been emptied out. Sergeant Winchester was behind you, which you had felt his presence, but he stayed back. Quiet. You could feel his tension and you knew his hand was on the OC spray by his side. He was ready.

“Yeah, they are, Mr. Matthews. But we can talk about you releasing while you’re in there. You’ve got a mom out there waiting. Now would you rather I call her to tell her that you tried to kill someone, got more time, and you’re decontaminating from the spray, or that you’re in seg, but OK? Because she’s gonna want to talk to you, and she can’t if you’re on security enhancements.” You were hoping, really hard, that he heard you. And that he listened. A place that thrived on chaos and violence, it was hard sometimes to be heard over it all. You could only hope he did.

When his hand opened and he dropped the glass, you watched as he fell to his knees, putting his hands on his head as the officers stepped in before you. It amazed you, stepping back, watching how many folks had arrived without you even realizing it. Already the cameras were on, filming the interaction as Sergeant Winchester directed the cuffing up and movement of Mr. Matthews to segregation.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, eyes catching those deep green ones of Dean as he walked passed you. But there was something on his face, behind a clenched jaw and features more stoic than your own.

Taking a breath, you made your way down the tier, off, and unlocked the door to the back breakroom. It was empty, officers still manning the control panel and cleaning up the mess. People were ensuring staff safety, and you got that. But it never got easier. There’d be paperwork, incident reports, reviews of footage. You’d be questioned.

Reaching for the coffee pot, you were surprised to hear the door open, watching as the Sergeant came back in. He wasn’t pleased.

Immediately you felt the tension, knowing he didn’t like you much, but not prepared for his own words, “What the hell was that, Y/N?” You turned, back against the counter as he stepped close. Close enough for you to smell him. He smelled like leather, like cologne, like coffee.

Your eyes narrowed, “I was doing my job, Sergeant.” You snapped at him, feeling rather defensive as he cornered you. Wasn’t he happy about this?

“Your job? Your job is to sit there and listen to these assholes whine all day, like the hug-a-thug you are, and I clean up the messes. Your job isn’t to get your ass involved in shit you can’t handle, like a hostage situation. We have Specialty Teams for a reason!” He had gotten progressively closer to you, backing you up against the wall with his face closer to yours. You could see the pores on his face.

But anger flooded your vision, “I’m not a goddamn hug-a-thug! That’s what mindless neanderthals like yourself think! Just because I take four seconds to care about a guy who, by the way, is getting out of prison and might be living down the street from you, makes me a softie? No. It means you don’t care.” You pushed your index finger into his chest, his rather firm chest, and caused him to step back.

It took a lot to get you this angry, but now you were here. Sure, he looked great in that uniform, and sure, he knew what he was doing, but so did you. Years of school and years of practice meant you weren’t running in blindly. You’d done your job and no one got hurt. Not enough for Sergeant fucking Winchester, here.

He was quiet as you left without the coffee you had come in for, moving down the hall to the restrooms and going inside, locking the door, and immediately sinking down to the floor. Tears were in your eyes as you considered how close you had come to violence today, and how truly unsupported you felt by being cornered by the Sergeant. The man meant to ensure your safety.

You spent the remainder of his shift (he’d be off at 2pm, which was in a half-hour) in the restroom, stepping out only once he was gone. You’d composed yourself, going ahead and writing incident reports and follow-ups as requested. The incident report itself went to the shift lieutenant, the man who had gone on to make sure you were OK, “Winchester just gets… he gets gruff. You know him, Y/N. You’ve worked with the man forever.”

Singer was always good to you. He was a gruff man himself, but a softie at heart. You knew that man like the back of your hand. Still, you shrugged, “I get it. Doesn’t give him a right to be a dick.” You cocked an eyebrow, shifting your weight as you held your bag, ready to go home after what had felt like ages.

Bobby only laughed, “You and I both know you sayin’ that don’t mean he’s gonna change anything.” Lieutenant Singer was wearing similar uniform to Dean’s, save for the faded aspect and the fact that it didn’t fit him nearly as well anymore. Still, it was reassuring to have a custody officer on your side.

“Thanks, Lieutenant. Stay safe.” You gave him a half-wave and made your way out of the institution. It took a good ten minutes to get out of the locked doors and cement hallways, but you were happy to be out of the institution proper. A smile that was hard to dissuade danced on your face as the sun hit. That was the benefit of prison, of course. That you could leave.

Your phone went off, the phone you locked away during the day, glancing down to see a text. Shit! It was Sam.

_-You need a beer. Singer told me what happened._

_-Belltower Tavern? First is on me._

As much as Dean irritated you, Sam Winchester was another matter. He was a good guy. A solid officer in his own right, he had chosen the path of the officer rather than a higher rank. His goal was never corrections, he’d said. Classification counseling, help the guys back on the street. Keep ‘em out of jail. Rehabilitation. He got it.

Sam had become a best friend and knew that Dean drove you bananas. He loved his brother, but he was a good ear. He understood your rants daily. Each time he tried to convince you it was just that he was worried, or that he cared, but you weren’t getting it. You weren’t picking up on it.

_-OMW. Make it a shot. Whiskey._

Getting into your car you made your way down to the local bar. It was long enough after shift change that most folks had filtered out, but you knew Sam would wait, wouldn’t he? As you pulled into the gravel parking lot, looking for his car, you weren’t so sure. What you did see made you do a double-take. Sergeant Winchester, still donning his blues and badge, leaning against his beloved Impala.

Fucking Sam… He had tricked you.

Taking a breath, you parked near him, stepping out and walking towards Dean, “I’m guessing Sam isn’t here?” Your voice was defensive, and it was hard not to be. You had spent your day agonizing dealing with Dean again, and here he was.

“We need to talk. C’mon.” Dean had always been direct, and that part didn’t surprise you. What did surprise you was how he opened the door for you when you entered the decent bar, or the way he took stock of the area before you. You could see he was being protective, but it was of you. He was… he was watching over you.

He let you lead the way to a booth, both of you ordering a shot of whiskey, the waitress smirking as she stepped aside. It was odd to see Dean still in his attire, but you didn’t overthink it. In fact, you were mostly nervous about being with him at all.

“So, Sammy says you think I hate you.” He leaned back, green eyes staring intently on to you. It was hard not to feel your face burning, unsure if you were angry or nervous right now. He had really done that you.

You shrugged, “Well, don’t you?” It was hard not to stare at him, stuck in the booth. You wished that your drinks would come faster, instead of having this man stare you down. You wanted to be confident. To be sure. To be that same woman you were in that prison every day.

He chuckled lightly, not a heavy laugh, but a sideways smile that made him look nervous in that moment, “Not really, actually. Sort of the opposite.” You could see his cheeks turning red as he looked up, taking the drink as it came over and downing the shot immediately. You did the same, suddenly more nervous. Was he…?

“You know, since the day you got assigned to my unit, I knew you were trouble. Sure, I always kept up the tough-guy act, figuring I’d get over you but… wasn’t happening.” His eyes had finally worked up the courage to meet your own, looking incredibly nervous, “You are the most distracting woman I’ve ever run into, and without evening meaning to be. You dress modest, you do a damn good job, and hell… I’ve seen grown men run away from what you ran towards. I act the way I do because I love you, Y/N. From the day I met you.”

It was hard not to feel everything breaking down between the two of you. Everything made sense suddenly. The way he’d look into your office not to be nosy, but because he was concerned. Or how he’d watch you around the unit, or how defensive he got if you left without informing him. It was never anger. He was worried.

“I thought I could just… work through it. But after today? Not gonna happen. So I told Sammy to send you that text. And… well hell, I just hope you understand. I’m not hoping for you to feel the same.” He was staring at the table as though it was the only thing that mattered, and for a brief moment, you wondered how painful it must have been. The facade of looking like a man who hated you, holding back everything he felt. All for your safety.

When he got up, you could only watch, “Anyway, I’ll let you go. I know you won’t go spreadin’ this to the folks on the unit, but I just wanted you to know where you stood. I could never hate you.”

You heard him walking past you, quickly getting out of your seat, “Dean, wait.” You gently took his arm, the rough fabric of his uniform taut against his own strong arm, “Have another drink with me.” Your face had softened. Sure, you didn’t know if you were in love with this man right now, but he was in love with you. Your world had been reframed and so much made sense.

“You sure about this?” He looked concerned as you softened your hold, a smile crossing your face as you eyed his features. You saw it now. The scruff that was so intentional, the hair that looked so perfectly done, and the green eyes you worried would bore right through you.

“Sure enough, Sergeant Winchester.” You replied.


End file.
